Knowledge Comes At A Price
by slayst
Summary: Lily Potter never actually saved her son's life. No, Hermaeus Mora did it for her, at a price. The witch ended up in Apocrypha and Harry became a new dimensional anchor for the Daedric Prince of Forbidden Knowledge now standing on his shoulder. Poor, poor Wizardry World.
1. Let's Make A Deal

Welcome, dear readers, to " _Knowledge Comes At A Price",_ a crossover between 'Harry Potter' and the 'Elder Scrolls' universe.

I hope you'll have a good time reading this.

 _Gaining knowledge is the first step to wisdom._

* * *

Let's Make A Deal

* * *

Hermaeus Mora was not a friendly Prince. Not that he didn't know the sentiment, but it was not in his nature to consider someone a friend, he only ever saw others as a mean to an end... namely, gathering more knowledge.

As a daedra, he was a genderless, amorphous, tentacled and immortal creature from the depths of Oblivion. As a Prince, he was the Keeper of Fate, Forbidden Knowledge and Memory. Not good, nor evil, he simply _was_... and so was his vast and evergrowing realm, Apocrypha.

As a matter of fact, the Prince was currently contemplating the most unusual expansion said realm had gained a few years back.

In exchange for her life, some woman had asked him to protect her child, and he'd done so, if only to understand how she'd managed to reach him from another dimension. The infant saved and a pitiful sorcerer mostly disposed of, the Prince had enthusiastically claimed the woman's soul as payment, stabbing her ghost with an acid tendril to the gut and draining her of her knowledge. What he'd gazed upon, what had laid in the soul of his new contractor, had fascinated him.

Lily Evans Potter, while not originating from Nirn or another realm of Oblivion, having never even _heard_ of Aetherius or the concept of Magicka, had somehow still been a witch. She'd been raised in a rather advanced society where magic was hidden by its practitioners, and had been so brilliant that she'd managed to breach the frontier around her dimension with merely a bunch of outdated magical theories dating back thousands of years and a pattern drawn in her own blood underneath her child's crib.

Mora's fascination had lasted... five good minutes. Then he'd focused back on that annoying Dragonborn messing around with Miraak.

After all, he had no reason to look at this world any longer. The woman, now a denizen of his realm, had nothing more to offer, and he had no other contractors or followers in that yet unexplored dimension… none but the child.

If the mother had opened the threshold, it was to her son that he was now linked, and it meant that he still had a foot… huh, a tentacle in this world.

Sadly, said child, one Harry James Potter, had been utterly boring for ten long years – not that time meant anything to a Prince. The kid had slowly grown, starved, been beaten around for accidental magic, and had stayed in enough darkness that Mora had surprised himself once by comparing the suffering child with one of Nocturnal's Nightingales.

But things were changing now, as the child had stumbled upon an artifact that had caused a raised daedric eyebrow… or a couple dozen, when Mora's form was taken into account.

It was a full mirror, frame golden and ornamented, reflective glass covered in enchantments. The Prince instinctively knew the value of what the boy was looking at, but the spells were weaved so intricately that he couldn't understand how it had been created.

 _He wanted it!_

So he did the only thing he had yet to do… he extended his existence across the other dimension and contacted his little contractor.

* * *

Harry was lost in time, but above all, he was lost in both joy and sadness. His family was just here, he could see them clearly… but he was still alone. He wanted to cry and smile at the same time… maybe was he already doing just that.

" _Yes, you are."_

The Gryffindor stumbled and began to frantically look around him, eyes filled with fear and heart hammering in his chest.

Someone had caught him, probably a teacher. The voice had felt… slimy, could it have been Professor Snape? He would be expelled, and his wand would be snapped, and...

" _Don't worry mortal, your little incursion remains unseen so far… by all but me, that is."_

Harry suddenly realized that those words weren't coming from anywhere around the room. Instead, he was hearing them directly in his head.

"Who… who are you?" he stammered, any thought of expulsion now gone and replaced by a visceral fear of the strange and unexplained phenomenon. "What do you want from me?"

" _My, aren't you a curious little boy?"_ replied the voice in a chuckle. _"You do know that asking questions can be dangerous, right? Especially badly formulated ones, and even more so if_ I _am the one providing the answers."_

"Wha... what do you want?" repeated the stuttering young wizard, his whole body shivering at those ominous words.

If he had to describe the voice, he would say that it sounded poisonous.

 _"And you would be correct."_

Wait, that... person, was reading his thoughts?

" _Indeed, I am, but it doesn't mean that you must fear me. After all, your mother made me your guardian."_

Harry's brain shut down temporarily, rebooting some interminable seconds later before finally registering the voice's last words.

"WHAT?"

" _My hearing is just fine, young Potter. There is no need to yell."_ calmly stated the voice. _  
_

Despite the extremely unusual situation, the wizard felt himself blush at his brief laps in manners.

"Sorry…" he apologies shily, his light tone hardening immediately after as he repeated his question. "What were you saying about my mom?"

" _Ten years ago, your mother, Lily Evans Potter, made me your guardian."_

"My… guardian?"

Something _broke_ in Harry and he yelled once again.

"THEN WHERE WERE YOU? If my mother wanted you to look after me, why did you leave me with the Dursleys? Why didn't you take me with you? ISN'T THAT WHAT A GUARDIAN DOES?"

" _I am not that kind of guardian, mortal!"_ boomed the voice. _"My only task was to prevent your death, which I did. Your upbringing wasn't part of the contract."_

Prevent his death? A contract? And he'd called him mortal, as if he himself… wasn't.

"... what are you?" asked Harry in a whisper, voice trembling slightly.

" _Now_ that _is properly formulated."_

Somehow, Harry saw a grin, and his imagination was telling him that it had way too many fangs.

" _My name is Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of Knowledge and ruler of Apocrypha. In your eyes, that would makes me something akin to a god or a demon."_ replied the voice. _"As for the contract, your mother managed to contact me on the night of her death and made a deal to save you."_

"Voldemort, you stopped him." breathed Harry, finally understanding why he'd survived his encounter with the dark wizard.

" _Indeed, I dealt with that pathetic excuse of a sorcerer, if only temporarily."_

"Temporarily?" gasped the boy. "He's still alive?"

" _Yes, that man turned into a wraith of sort and managed to escape my grasp, which is why I am still watching over you."_

That worried and reassured Harry at the same time.

On one hand, Voldemort was still alive and would no doubt come after him. On the other hand, he was watched by a demon-god-thing under oath to protect him.

Suddenly, he saw the implications of that last fact.

"Wait, you said mom made a deal with you?"

" _Indeed."_

The young wizard was terrified when he asked his next question, even more so than when he'd come face to face with Fluffy, Hagrid's cerberus.

"Then she… sold her soul for me?"

" _In a sense, yes. Your mother provided me with the memories and knowledge she'd accumulated during her life, in exchange for my protection. I'm now your guardian, while she became a citizen of my realm."_

Harry hadn't heard anything past the yes.

"She… sold her soul…to a demon…"

That was all he'd registered and all that mattered anymore.

What his mother had done for his sake was… horrifying. She hadn't just died, she'd gone as far as to strike a deal with an eldritch entity which had claimed her soul. She'd damned herself… for him.

" _SNAP OUT OF IT,_ _MORTAL!_ _"_ boomed the thing.

Harry was temporarily startled, long enough for the voice to keep talking.

" _What you're thinking couldn't be further from the truth that it currently is. I'm the Prince of_ _Hidden_ _Knowledge and your mother_ _was lucky enough to contact me, instead of one of my siblings. She_ _didn't merge with the shadows, her sanity is intact and I'm not torturing her either. She merely resides in Apocrypha and tends to the realm. Though she is a ghost, her afterlife is one many wizards and scientists_ _would… well, die for, as she now has access to the infinite knowledge upon which I govern_ _._ _Her act saved your life and offered her the afterlife she'd dreamed of since she herself received her Hogwarts letter. Don't you dare_ _blame yourself,_ _pity her,_ _or_ _demonize me."_

The wizard was speechless. In fact, he felt as if he'd just been hit by a Bludger.

His mom had help him, and now she was… happy?

"Why would I trust you?" he asked warily.

For all he knew, that Hermaeus Mora character could perfectly be lying. Demons tended to do that, right?

" _Well, I could tell you that I'm not Mephala, nor Boethiah, but that wouldn't convince you like it would Nirnians."_ replied the Prince. _"So tell me, what_ would _convince you?"_

Harry didn't hesitate.

"Let me speak to my mom." he blurred.

" _Of course, that would alleviate your doubts."_ said the Prince in an eerie voice, now sounding disturbingly happy with himself. _"And you're lucky, I'm willing to let you speak with her. But before that, I_ _must_ _ask you to_ _lend me your ear, for I have an… offer, for you."_

An offer?

" _You see, making deals is rather unusual for me, as it is more Clavicus Vile's domain, but I make exceptions from time to time. Miraak, the Nerevarine, Septimus Signus, your mother and the Last Dragonborn are but a few examples among countless others. And now, I want to make another deal… with you."_

Him? But why? He had nothing to offer, and wanted nothing anyway.

Unless…

"Is it blackmail? You won't let me talk to my mom until I do what you ask for?"

" _Nothing of the sort, no. The price for that is to hear me out and you are currently paying it. When this discussion will be over, you will speak to your mother, no matter your reply to my proposition. No, what I'm offering you is more of a win-win situation. Knowledge for knowledge."_

"I want nothing of you."

" _Oh, but you do. I can tell you who Nicolas Flamel_ _is_ _. And if it's not enough for you, I know what is stored on the third floor and who is trying to steal it."_

"You do? But... how?"

" _Does it really matter? After all, knowledge is knowledge, no matter where it comes from, right?"_

Harry hated to admit it, but Hermaeus Mora was right. He needed answers, and he could have them… but at what cost?

" _Such is the question, isn't it? No matter what you ask and what you receive, there's always a cost. And for this, it is fairly small… just give me the mirror."_

"The… mirror?"

He hadn't expected that.

" _Yes, the one standing right before you. For ten years now, I merely watched over you in silence, so why would I suddenly manifest myself but to contemplate this wonder?"_

He… hadn't thought about that either.

" _That artifact intrigues me, I want it. Sent it to Apocrypha and I shall give you your answers."_

"But… it doesn't belong to me. That would be a theft."

" _What a terrible word. I prefer to see it as just a… borrowing. Once I'll understand its inner working, I will provide a perfect copy and nobody with ever notice that the original is gone."_

Harry's conscience – strangely speaking in Hermione's voice – was screaming at him that it was wrong.

He was finding incredibly hard to listen to it, with such an opportunity presented to him.

"So that's it? The mirror for my answers and you're leaving me again?"

" _Oh, but I'm never truly leaving you, mortal. I'm bounded by my oath, after all. "_

Harry shivered. He didn't know why, but the idea of a higher being silently watching his every move was freaking him out… Okay, so he did know why, it was creepy enough just to formulate it like that.

Strangely enough, the wizard would prefer Hermaeus Mora to actively talk to him instead. It would give him someone… something, to speak with.

" _I'm usually more of a silent observer, but I can bend that rule i_ _f that truly is what you desire. Though, as I stated earlier, everything comes at a cost. The mirror would be but a first trade. I'm willing to give you more, so much more… for as long as you pay the appropriate price."_

Harry was hesitating now, and curious as to what he could receive.

" _I'm the Prince of Knowledge, what would I offer but knowledge? Wandless casting, answers to your questions, spells and powers from my dimension, artifacts even… but always –"_

"At a cost, I get it."

And now, Harry was no longer just curious, but feeling completely overwhelmed too. To cast magic without a wand, use spells never heard of before, and have all of his questions answered… the possiblilities seemed endless.

"And the cost for… more, what would it be?"

He _had_ to ask.

After all, asking didn't mean that he had accepted yet, and he could always refuse if the cost was too high.

" _Why, knowledge, of course. Thanks to our shared bond, your discoveries are instantly mine to use. Magical theory, physics, history, mechanics, computer engineering, even cooking, I'm not picky. For everything you can offer, that your mother hasn't already provided, I shall add… I guess you could call them brownie points, to your name. Every favor you ask of me will consume a number of points, depending of the size of said favor, obviously."_

The wizard nodded, it seemed fair enough.

" _Artifacts would be appreciated too."_ continued the daedra.

Harry frowned.

"And what exactly do you see as an artifact?" he asked.

" _Any object that I can't, at the moment, understand nor recreate an equivalent of. The mirror is such an object, and shall thus grant you your answers."_ explained Mora.

"How long do I have to make my decision?" asked Harry in an uncertain voice, after quite a few seconds of hesitation.

" _I am a daedra, mortal. Time is meaningless to me."_

That was… convenient, and definitely too good to be true.

"So I can just give you my consent whenever and wherever I want?"

" _That is correct."_

"Good… good."

Was it really? He honestly couldn't tell.

"Well, I heard you out. Can I talk to my mom now?"

" _Of course. A deal is a deal, after all."_

Harry's head was suddenly filled with static, making him want to throw up. Luckily, just when he was about to present every meals he'd eaten that day, the phenomenon stopped and he heard the most beautiful voice in the world.

"Harry?"

The voice was sweet, caring… he could easily associate it with the face he'd seen in the enchanted mirror.

"M… mom?"

And all was well.

* * *

The reunion – more like an audio-conference, really – was tearful and lasted for nine minutes and forty nine seconds, the exact amount of time it had taken Hermaeus Mora to introduce himself and present his offer.

Lily Potter, nee Evans, shared a few experiences she'd lived through since her departure to the strange and perilous realm of Oblivion. Harry replied with experiences of his short time at Hogwarts. His childhood really wasn't worth mentioning.

In the end, the witch instinctively felt that their discussion was coming to an end. She berated him goodheartedly for sneaking out of his dormitory and urged him to return to his room. Mother and son wished each other a good night and, forcing tears out of the living speaker, concluded with a heartbreaking "I love you.".

Once the connection was broken, Harry, good son that he was, listened to his mother and hurried back to his dorm. Tired, but happier that he'd ever been, the young wizard entered his room and dropped like a stone on his bed. There, eyes shut closed, face pressed in his pillow, he whispered one last sentence.

"How do I send the mirror?"

As he fell asleep, the wizard managed to somehow _hear_ the Prince's smile.

* * *

The mirror was send to Apocrypha in a bright emerald green light, using a blood ritual that his mom had designed herself. In fact, she'd guided him for the entire procedure. Hearing her voice for the second time in two days had achieved to convince Harry that it hadn't been a dream.

The fully working copy had been retrieved three hours later and left behind by a dumbstruck Harry who now had his answers, unbelievable as they may be.

Unbeknown to the young wizard, the swap had been done _in extremis_ , as Headmaster Dumbledore checked on the mirror half-an-hour later… and saw nothing out of the ordinary. The Prince may appear to mortals as a slimy ball of ink, eyes and tentacles, but he still was a master when it came to understanding and applying knowledge. His fake mirror had just proven that.

But for the Gryffindor, those things didn't matter. What mattered was the crazy DADA instructor somehow reeking of Voldemort's magical aura and trying to steal a philosopher's stone belonging to one of the most famous alchemist of all time.

Thinking back to that time on the Express, when he'd read Dumbledore's Famous Wizard card, Harry couldn't help but feel really stupid. How had he managed to forget that?

Simple, he wasn't a daedra.

Anyway, he knew what, why, where and by who… now he just had to convince his friends, preferably without telling them _how_ he'd figured it out. The hardest of all would be blaming Quirrell, because even knowing that the stuttering teacher was guilty, Professor Snape _still_ made a better culprit.

* * *

Harry lazily floated around the Quidditch pitch, occasionally sparring a glance to Quirrell, Snape and his friends.

After Hermaeus Mora's revelation, _remembering_ where he'd seen Flamel's name hadn't been that complicated, nor had it been to _discover_ that Fluffy was guarding his philosopher's stone.

Pointing a finger not at the greasy potion master that everything seemed to accuse, but at the inconspicuous stuttering DADA professor with no apparent motive, was another matter entirely. He hadn't yet found a way to do it without revealing his connection to the Prince, which meant that Ron and Hermione were still watching the wrong person.

Bah, it didn't really matter. With Dumbledore around, Quirrell wouldn't do anything. He didn't have to check his back for a misplaced knife… or a killing curse. He could properly look for the snitch, win this match fair and square.

" _For the love of Padomay, catch the thing already. It's on your six, by the western stands, three meters above the ground."_

But whoever said that daedra cared about fairness?

"Stop it." hissed the wizard, despite himself throwing a discreet glance to confirm the deity's words.

" _Why?"_

"That's cheating."

" _So?"_

The deity sounded so amused that Harry had to sigh. He'd been stupid enough to ask for a companion, someone to talk to, and Mora had accepted. The only payment required was proper conversations, else he would render them interesting by pestering his young contractor. Since then, the Daedra had profusely used that right, much to Harry's irritation.

Miffed beyond reason by the demon god's constant nagging and his own eyes that kept on turning back to the snitch, even if he didn't want them too, Harry caught the golden orb two minutes later, ending the match.

" _You're loosing time, mortal."_ commented Mora, as Harry's teammates swarmed the Gryffindor common room to celebrate. _"Read a book."_

The daedra had a point, he needed to be ready to face Quirrell and whatever protections were layered around the stone. The victory felt hollow anyway, so Harry casually excused himself, claiming a headache, and returned to his dorm.

Curtains closed, soundproof spell up to shield him from the ongoing party, the young wizard dived head first into a defense textbook he'd… borrowed from the library.

He would pull an all-nighter.

* * *

" _Akatosh must be_ _so proud of you, little thing."_ said Mora, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"Shut up." hissed back his contractor, scratching the baby dragon.

"You said something Harry?" asked Hagrid, still trying to extinguish his burning beard.

"Nothing."

Despite Hermaeus Mora's snarky comments, watching Hagrid hatch a baby dragon was a pleasant experience.

A bit less pleasant was getting caught by Malfoy, then McGonagall when the bloody ponce stupidly snitched.

A LOT less pleasant was being sent with his friends and the idiot into the Forbidden Forest to bust Quirrell during one of his unicorn hunt. The detention wasn't exactly formulated like this, but that was pretty much it.

Meeting face to hood with the possessed wizard was pretty horrible, the dark energy remaining in Harry's scar hurting through magical resonance from his mere presence. Sadly, not much could be done about Voldemort.

While Lily's sacrifice had given Mora enough power to deal with the sorcerer all those years ago, he'd done so at point blank range through a dimensional tear. Appearing now would require him to incarnate himself on this mortal plan, and while his foothold into the dimension was more than enough to utterly crush the wizard, the wraith would probably just escape again. The daedra didn't want to reveal himself to their enemy yet.

And so, he could only dim his contractor's pain, his essence seeping through their link and counteracting the dark magic.

" _We need to bid our time."_ he later said, after a friendly centaur named Firenze had fought off the threat for them. _"I won't strike unless I'm sure that it will bring his demise. Now, why don't you send me this unicorn while it's still fresh? I sampled an Nirnian one a couple hundred years ago, before Hircine had Sheogorath kill the last survivor, and I would love to look into their differences."_

Harry tried his utmost best to ignore the Prince's words, unwilling to desecrate the pure animal by sending its corpse to a demon god.

As Mora's voice urged him to do it, he just smiled innocently to Hagrid when the gatekeeper asked about his health. Everything was fine, yes. After all, it wasn't like there was a black mage running around the school killing light creatures and bleeding them dry like a damn vampire, right?

" _A vial of blood then? I'll teach you Sun Fire… or Life Drain, whichever you want."_

There definitely wasn't a knowledge-junkie Prince bribing him into doing inappropriate things either.

* * *

Harry was seething.

Getting caught by Neville as they left the common room wasn't that troubling, nor was almost getting mauled by Fluffy, strangled by Devil's Snare and swarmed by murderous flying keys. Ron being thrown off his chess piece was equally inconsequential, much like the bloodied troll they'd discovered and Snape's stupid riddle. Hermione going back to their unconscious friend was completely understandable, and finding Quirrell standing in the last chamber totally expected.

But discovering that the precious stone had been stored inside Mora's duplicated Mirror of Erised, an artifact now linked to him through his daedric nature, meaning that the Prince had definitely known about it and could have easily retrieved the priceless gem at any given time…

Harry cursed under his breath as Quirrell followed Voldemort's order, forcing the boy to stand before the looking glass.

"Well? What do you see?" asked the man, his impatience showing in his tone.

Harry almost answered honestly.

He was seeing a Daedric Prince examining the priceless artifact. His mother was seating at a nearby desk, acting like a scribe and taking notes into an old grimoire. She even waved when she noticed her son and gestured toward his right pocket. The young wizard felt something appear in it, probably a counterfeit stone.

Then he realize that answering honestly would make him sound crazy. As interesting as Quirrell and Voldemort's reactions would have been, he instead settled for a half-truth.

"I see my family… watching over me..."

Close enough, even if his father wasn't exactly in the picture and the daedra couldn't be quite classified as family. Still, Harry managed to put enough emotion into it to fool Quirrell.

"You're lying! Where's the stone?"

Voldemort, not so much.

" _Let him have it."_ whispered Mora, confirming by this mere acceptance that the stone was a fake.

In a real theatrical moment, Harry took a step back and put a protective hand over his pocket. It was perfectly interpreted and more than obvious enough for the dark wizard.

"In his pocket! Retrieve the stone!"

Quirrell didn't waste any moment, leaping forward and grabbing the boy by the neck. Harry began to struggle, more to put up a front than to prevent his maniac professor from completing his goal.

It proved way too efficient when Quirrell's skin began to roast upon contact. Whenever Harry's hands met his flesh, small arcs of lighting would leap across his face, slowly cooking him.

The possessed man began to shout in a mixture of surprise, pain and fear. He was toasted in seconds, reduced to smelly robes and ashes on the floor, his death unleashing Voldemort's wraith form into the room.

Harry's mind outrightly froze as it failed to register the impossible event, the wizard's eyes staring intently at his shivering hands. The shock was so great in fact, that he also failed to notice the ghost phasing through his body in an attempt to possess it.

Thankfully, bounded as they were by the oath, said body currently belonged as much to the Prince as it did to the wizard and Mora repulsed the parasite like one would a fly. The sorcerer met the unexpected resistance head on and was forced to flee the room, unable to grasp the true nature of his unseen opponent.

When Harry's brain finally unfroze, Voldemort was long gone.

The wizard's first coherent action was to yell at his guardian.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

" _A contact variant of sparks, a novice destruction spell."_ replied the daedra, sounding almost impressed. " _You seem to have a natural affinity for lightning, mortal."_

"I did this?" asked Harry, pointing a trembling finger at the pile of ashes.

" _You did."_

"It… It wasn't your stone?"

" _No, the stone was supposed to seal the wraith. By killing Quirrell, you allowed it to escape."_

Hearing his ex-teacher's name and 'killing' in the same sentence, Harry had no choice but to acknowledge his recent homicide. He then reacted like any other eleven years old would.

He fainted.

* * *

Waking up to the headmaster's smile, listening to his soothing voice and caring words, didn't help alleviate Harry's feelings one bit. In fact, it only increased his guilt.

The man was comforting _a murderer_.

Dumbledore had to know that if, like he claimed, he'd been the one who had located him in the mirror chamber. He would have seen Quirrell's robes among the ashes and it didn't take a genius to understand that the boy who had survived the deadly encounter had done the deed.

Many visitors had come too, leaving gifts all around his bed. What would they say if they knew that he'd taken a life?

" _Quit your whining, mortal._ _I reap new souls everyday and know for a fact that simply t_ _aking one miserable life doesn't deserve that amount of guilt and self-pity."_

"Yeah, well excuse me for not being a freaking daedra and actually _having emotions!_ " snarled Harry, pushing himself up to check around the room. It wouldn't do to be caught talking to himself by Mme Pomfrey.

" _We all kill for a reason, our nature is irrelevant."_ said the Prince. _"I kill to protect my realm, my interests or my reputation. Now tell me, why did you kill him?"_

"It… it was an accident."

" _Was it? Given the choice, you would have let him live?"_

"I… I..."

" _That man tried to kill you for his master. Isn't his death a good thing?"_

"Yes, but… I..."

" _Good, then forget about him. His demise isn't yours to shoulder anyway, he was but a walking corpse, killing unicorns and feeding on their blood to survive the possession."_

So... he hadn't really killed his professor, because he had been... what exactly? A ghost... no, a zombie? So he'd just... killed him again? Like an exorcism? In a sense, it had freed him? Thinking about it this way looked a bit more acceptable and the boy relaxed slightly.

But Hermaeus wasn't done talking yet.

 _"If not the man's own stupidity or unhealthy devotion_ _–"_ continued the Prince. _"_ _– the wraith is to blame for this."_

"Voldemort…" suddenly realized Harry. "He ran away."

" _He did."_

"Let me guess, it isn't my fault either?"

" _You sped up Quirrell's end, released the wraith and prevented the soul gem from doing its job. Of course it is your fault, mortal."_

Harry was confused. Was he supposed to be relieved that someone was finally recognizing his responsibility in this mess, or totally mortified about it?

" _But again, I can't really blame you for it."_

"Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?"

" _He tried to possess you, to usurp your body. Whoever resorts to that sort of tactics doesn't deserve any sympathy. If someone tried to mantle me, I would kill that person too."_

"So what? Because he used a dick move, it makes me innocent?"

" _No, it doesn't. It merely makes your action more comprehensible."_

With a halfhearted "Good.", Harry dropped back on his bed. Later that night, he would dream of crimson eyes and black wisps of smoke.

* * *

Harry's stay in the infirmary had only lasted until supper of the next day. He'd then been released from the nurse's hospitality and allowed to join his comrades for the end of term feast.

He'd walked into the hall, been applauded by three quarter of the school for supposedly besting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – Slytherin wasn't all that happy about this – and received additional points for doing so, winning the House cup – Slytherin wasn't all that happy about this either.

The young wizard had then spent the night lying, smiling while what he truly wanted to do was yell. They'd rewarded him with house points and smiles? Really? He'd killed Quirrell dammit... sort of. But most of all, he'd freed Voldemort. The wraith would come back one day, and probably kill a good chunk of the population. All of those deaths would be his fault, if just partially. What was wrong with them?

Oh, right. They didn't know. What he'd done, how he felt… they had no idea. Ignorance, that was their problem.

He kept on smiling.

* * *

The few remaining days were filled of just as much falseness, and the ride home wasn't any better.

The Hogwarts Express was supposed to be a happy place. The students were expected to forget what they'd learned, eat unnecessarily-sugary treats, talk about their love-interests, discuss their holiday and promise to write over the summer.

Harry did all that, just without the expected joy. He never once mentioned the emptiness in his guts, keeping it to himself.

Empty, that's how he felt ever since he'd allowed the darkest wizard of this century to escape. Oh, he didn't blame himself for Quirrell's death anymore, it had saved his life and probably his friends' too, he'd come to term with it. But justified or not, it had still enacted a chain of events that would undoubtedly result in more deaths... or worse, another war. The mere implication of what he'd done would give him nightmares for years. It would also fuel his growing insecurity and paranoia.

Voldemort was out there now, waiting for an opportunity. From what he'd read in the library, entire squadrons of his old followers were also laying low. The combined menace was just too much for a mere student, but by taking a life, he'd sort of ceased to be a mere student. He'd turned into a fighter, a survivor...

The eleven years old wasn't all that thrilled about it.

Sadly for him, Hermaeus had abruptly told him that, excited about it or not, he had no choice but to fight now. The Prince had already sent him a spell book for that sole purpose, sparks, the destruction spell he'd used by accident. It was just a novice shock spell, but it would be absolutely invaluable for him, even more since the thing would apparently consume his opponent's magic. Casting it didn't even require a wand.

The healing spells he'd been offered as payment for delivering the Sorcerer's Stone worked in a similar manner and he would now get to mock the Ministry's surveillance systems and practice over the summer despite being underage.

But if he was to trust the Prince, that summer would be quite profitable for both of them for another reason entirely. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

He wasn't sure if it was out of fear, or out of impatience.


	2. Enlightenment

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _That escalated quickly._ **  
**

* * *

Enlightenment

* * *

When Hermaeus Mora had promised him a profitable summer, Harry had felt… conflicted. Was he supposed to be ecstatic, or totally freaked out?

He got his answer the very next day when, just after breakfast, the Prince's poisonous voice invaded his thoughts and offered him an invaluable secret.

" _Tell me mortal, would you like to cast your dimension's spells without the need of a focus?"_

Once again, Harry visualized a massive grin, filled to the brim with sharp fangs. The offer was too tempting though and he ignored a passing feeling of dread.

Sensing his interest, the daedra explained that the price for that transaction would be the wizard's holly wand, a magical focus he'd never managed to acquire before and which would apparently allow him to continue his study. Now that the professors were no longer breathing down his contractor's neck and because the wizard wasn't old enough to use it at home anyway, he wouldn't even miss it. Learning how to cast without it would assure that even further.

Harry, partly convinced by the sound arguments and partly invigorated by the feeling of freedom that had come from the Nirnian spells he'd practiced just the night before, eagerly stole his wand back from its resting place under the stairs – Uncle Vernon didn't want to see anything remotely associated with the Wizardry World for the entire summer – and surrendered it to the daedra.

And then, he waited…

* * *

If a Dursley had walked uninvited in Harry's room at that exact moment, he or she would have certainly freaked out, simply because the young wizard was seated at his desk and examining his hands with was seemed to be genuine enthusiasm. That said hands were alternatively conjuring small spheres of lights and sparks of lightning may explain why he was so fascinated and why his relatives would have had a heart attack.

As fascinated as he was, the boy ceased his exercises right away when an inky portal abruptly opened above his desk. That was it, what he'd been waiting for for three impossibly long days.

He had to do a double-take when the rift expelled not only his holly wand – or maybe a copy, he couldn't be sure. – but also a leather-bound tome of well over seven-hundred pages.

"What is this?" asked the wizard, worried by the sheer volume of the tome.

" _Exactly what I offered."_ replied Hermaeus Mora, manifestly amused. _"A guide to help you cast your branch of magic without the need of a focus."_

Harry tentatively opened the front covert and perused through the document.

The thing was written entirely in daedric by what appeared to be the only nearsighted Seeker in all the realm, if the size of the text was any indication.

"But… I can't read daedric scriptures!"

A pocket Daedric/English dictionary suddenly appeared beside it, like a sort of sick joke.

" _This one is free of charge."_

Harry almost complained, but realized almost instantly that he couldn't do so without offending Mora and forfeiting his life.

He'd traded his wand for the knowledge he needed to dismiss it completely and he'd received just that. He couldn't fault the Prince for respecting his part of the deal, as never had he asked for the thing to be in English, wrongfully taking it for granted.

Admitting this mistake had two distinct effects.

Firstly, it infuriated him enough for his developing Nirnian magic to act by itself, causing bursts of angry lightning to escape his grasp and hit random things all around the room. Hedwig would be grumpy and smell of roasted owl for days.

Secondly, it taught him a valuable lesson.

When he'd left Hogwarts, the boy had felt pretty depressed. Not because of Quirrell – he had already accepted that his murder was for the best and not his fault per say – or even of all the false smiles he'd been forced to put on in front of the entire school, sickening him to his core. No, he'd been depressed because his immediate future had suddenly seemed way bleaker. He'd been scared senseless of the hardships that had abruptly revealed themselves for the very first time and would one day stand in his path.

Receiving those manual and dictionary though, being seemingly mocked by the Prince for his ignorance, didn't reinforce Harry's fears. Instead, it acted like an electroshock and snapped him out of that unhealthy condition. A brand new light was shining in his eyes when he looked at the grimoire and frowned, deep in thoughts.

He'd stupidly assumed something and had been ripped off by Hermaeus. Good, he wouldn't do the same mistake again. Their next deal would be triple-checked and put down on paper.

Being conned was the least of his worries though, Voldemort and his minions were still after him.

Hermaeus had been clear about it, he needed to fight, even if he didn't want to. He just couldn't allow himself to make another mistake, because the next one could very well be the last. Hell, he didn't know where his foes would strike, how many of them would actually come, or even what spells they would use… that was a recipe for horrible maiming and it just wouldn't do.

He needed to survive, which meant that he couldn't allow himself to feel insecure or be paranoiac about who may or may not attack him. He needed to be calm, collected, always in control of his emotions and environment.

And for that, he needed to learn. Learn enough to protect himself from anything, anywhere and at any moment.

His frown progressively disappeared as he relaxed in his seat, exhaling slowly. After a few seconds of breathing exercises, the wizard opened his eyes and his brand new daedric dictionary.

On the 20th of June, 1992, Harry Potter had returned from school feeling hollow, almost desperate.

Four days later, an entirely different boy cracked a smile and began to read his latest acquisition, wondering what the heck was wrong with the bloody daedric alphabet.

* * *

"Why?" sadly asked Lily, watching her son through a discreet portal as he worked on his daedric.

" _Because you asked me to help him."_ replied Hermaeus Mora. _"And because he needed a new path."_

The witch glared at the mass of tentacles.

"You're turning him into one of your followers. Why would he need that?"

" _I'm not turning him into anything my dear, he's doing this out of his own free will."_ corrected the Prince. _"He is a very young boy, brave but extremely emotional. If his negative feelings had lingered any longer, he would have lost himself, so I gave him a nudge and he learned his lesson. Now if you'll excuse me, someone found one of my Black Books and I need to introduce myself."_

The Prince faded into nothingness, leaving the troubled witch watch as her son became in under five minutes the exact same knowledge addict she'd turned into over the course of her last ten years of non-existence.

* * *

Harry Potter sighed… deeply.

Learning daedric wasn't all that complicated, their alphabet being even simpler than his own, if a little hard to read. Their words also had a more guttural feeling to them, hurting his throat as he tried to speak them.

Going through seven hundred and forty-nine pages of esoteric text had been a bit more challenging, especially since the author had taken it upon himself to use as many convoluted turns of phrase and misleading words as possible, but he'd prevailed once again.

Only to discover that the entire text could be resumed to 'Focus on your magical core when you use your wand and replicate the feeling when you don't'.

Okay, so it may be a bit more complicated than that, the grimoire talking of many concepts such as resonating frequencies and magical signatures… but it most definitely didn't require so many damn pages.

What it required though, was time, a lot of it.

Focusing deeply enough to feel one's magic as it moves through the body, before replicating said movement through sheer power of will, was so difficult according to the book that it would probably take him a day or two of almost constant concentration to replicate a single spell. But since he had to do it for every single Wizardry spell he would learn and become familiar enough with the wandless casting to ingrain an automatism…

Harry grabbed his holly wand – a replica no longer traced according to Mora – and began to cast stunners repeatedly, his eyes closed and his attention entirely focused on the flow of magic coursing through his veins.

Learning was good, but damn was it time consuming.

* * *

Harry Potter was getting frustrated.

After three days of meditation, only interrupted by the various chores he had to undertake around the house and small periods of training with Nirnian magic, he could finally use wandless stunners.

Except that they were at barely 50% of their supposed power and that he was forced to wait for almost ten seconds between each casting.

It was extremely annoying.

"Harry Pot–"

Oh, apparently there were still useful.

The orb of red light he'd just willed into existence had impacted the tiny creature which had suddenly appeared on his bed with a popping sound. It was now soundly asleep and probably drooling on his bedsheets.

"What the hell is that?" asked Harry, watching his unannounced visitor.

" _A house elf."_ answered Hermaeus Mora through their mental link. _"They are mostly used as cooks or housekeepers, but have strong magical abilities."_

"Any idea why he's here?"

" _Not in the least."_ admitted the daedra. _"Though I could find out if you send it to Apocrypha."_

"You're just going to interrogate him, right? No dissection?"

He may not know this elf, but he was still a living creature and until he was proven to be hostile, Harry didn't want him to end up completely dismantled for the sake of knowledge.

" _Fine."_ sighed the Prince. _"The elf stays in one piece until further notice."_

Satisfied, the wizard grabbed his wand and shallowly cut his own finger, drawing enough blood to use his mother's ritual. The house elf promptly disappeared in a flash of emerald light and the wizard grabbed a box of tissues to clean this mess.

* * *

In a luxurious manor, somewhere in Wiltchire, a wealthy family felt a mental bond break. Apparently, they were down a servant, probably eaten in some dark corner by a cleverer creature.

But it didn't really matter, the elf was clearly incompetent and easily replaceable. An unfinished nefarious plot in mind, the head of the family called another elf from their kitchen.

* * *

"HOW MANY?"

" _Eleven letters, it would appear."_ replied Hermaeus as the documents appeared on Harry's desk, freshly out of a portal. _"The elf was merely supposed to read them and inform his master of any visit to Diagon Alley, but took upon himself to keep them, probably to give you a clue that something was amiss."_

"But couldn't he just… I don't know, not steal my mail and show up earlier instead?"

" _House-elves seem to think in mysterious ways."_

"And who's the master?"

" _Lucius Malfoy, your schoolmate's father."_ answered the Prince. _"Though former master would be more accurate, since their bond didn't survive the transition to Apocrypha. It is quite fortunate too, your mother needed a new assistant."_

The news that his mother would have someone else to talk to brought a smile to his face.

"Does the elf know what Malfoy wanted to do?"

" _Give you a cursed object, apparently."_

"And that thing is lethal, I suppose?"

" _Most assuredly."_

Harry thought about it for a second and an idea began to form.

"Does Malfoy know that he lost an elf?"

" _He should have felt the bond break, yes."_

"Then he'll probably send another elf with the same instructions to read my mail." said the wizard. "He wants to give me something? I say we let him."

Despite lacking a proper mouth or teeth, Hermaeus Mora smirked evilly. His little contractor could be quite devious when he wanted to.

"I wait until my Hogwarts letter arrives, then send Hedwig to my friends with apologies, telling them that I couldn't answer earlier for whatever reason. I invite them to join me in Diagon to purchase our supplies and we can just wait for Malfoy to show up."

" _A sound plan."_ acknowledged the daedra. _"Though you might prefer to contact your friends immediately. Worrying them would be pointless at the moment, we don't want them coming over and annoying your relatives."_

"Right." replied the boy as he grabbed his letters. "I'll get right to… huh, Hermaeus? You said that the elf had stolen eleven letters, but I see twelve here."

" _Indeed."_ chuckled the Prince. _"The last one is from your mother and goes with this."_

Another dimensional portal appeared and something fell from it, clanking on the desk.

"A… a mirror?" observed a confused Harry, examining the object.

" _A pocket version of the Mirror of Erised."_ explained Hermaeus. _"I_ _t can still sync with the original, here in Apocrypha, like the scale-one replica could. Just c_ _all your mother's name."_

The implications of what he was hearing were clear enough and soon, tears were falling from Harry's eyes.

"L… Lily." he whispered, voice a bit strained by the emotion.

Activated by his call, the mirror opened a breach through space.

Green eyes met green eyes.

"Happy twelfth birthday, Harry."

"Thanks mom."

* * *

Best present ever!

Okay, so it wasn't really a present. Hermaeus had used a good chunk of the brownie points left from the retrieval of the philosopher's stone as payment, the mirror itself further consuming them like a mobile phone would credits. Harry would also have to be careful not to be caught by aunt Petunia talking to her sister's ghost.

But it didn't matter, he couldn't be happier.

* * *

When his Hogwarts' letter arrived on the 12th of August, Harry immediately sent Hedwig out with letters for Ron and Hermione, before returning to his daily regimen.

He'd mastered his wandless stunners days ago and the only magic he was still studying was the Nirnian one. Mastering wandless Wizardry spells took time but he wasn't in a hurry, it would have to wait until he got back to school.

Studying muggle books to expand his general knowledge and earn brownie points though, took just as long and couldn't be done at Hogwarts. The rest of his free time was thus spent at the local library, reading up on subjects that his mother had never taken the time to study like mechanics, computers, physics and biology.

When Harry finally returned from the library that evening, Hedwig was back in her cage, letters from his friends stuck to her leg, confirming their meeting on Saturday the 15th.

"How did it go?" asked the wizard. "Did the elf shown up?"

The bird of prey hooted a confirmation.

"You let him read the letters then?"

Another hoot, a bit more vexed. Letting someone disturb her work was annoying, even if her wizard wanted it to happen.

"Don't be like that Hedwig, you did a great job." laughed Harry, giving her an owl treat and brushing her head. "Thank you."

Hedwig proudly puffed her feathers.

"And now we wait." softly concluded the boy, looking out the window and into the distance.

* * *

Harry glared at the mysterious black notebook which had somehow appeared among his school supplies. He may not be a Dark Arts expert, but the young contractor had studied enough daedric magic to feel the evil aura in the inconspicuous item.

"So, what is that thing?"

" _A soul receptacle."_ answered Hermaeus Mora. _"Much like the fake Philosopher's Stone I created for the wraith."_

"Malfoy wants to capture my soul?" asked the wizard, horrified by the idea.

" _No, it already holds a soul."_ the Prince reassured him. _"I believe that it may be able to possess you, shall you attempt to use the diary."_

Okay, not really better. In fact, the experience actually sounded even worse and sent massive shivers down the wizard's spine.

"Malfoy in my body… ew."

" _This soul piece doesn't belong to Lucius Malfoy, but to the sorcerer."_

"Voldemort? He sealed himself?" laughed the boy. "How thick is he?"

" _No, the wraith you encountered is still free."_ corrected the daedra. _"This piece feels younger, wilder. Surely the result a partial soul trap, undertaken to keep his main spirit earth-bound."_

"Like an anchor." understood Harry. "So if we destroy that thing..."

" _His specter should pass on."_ confirmed the Prince. " _Though I doubt that a man as obsessed with the concept of immortality would only have one failsafe."_

Harry nodded and retrieved his wand to perform the, by now, awfully familiar ritual.

That diary would soon rot in Apocrypha and if they were lucky, Voldemort would follow.

* * *

No luck this time.

As soon as he'd retrieved the diary, Hermaeus had extracted and consumed the soul, apparently belonging to a seventeen years old Voldemort, one young Tom Marvolo Riddle, prefect in Slytherin.

Sadly and just as the Prince had predicted, one anchor – or horcrux – hadn't been enough for the obsessed boy.

" _Because of its magical nature, the sorcerer was fixated on the number seven."_ explained the daedra. _"I can't say if he successfully made six horcruxes or if I stopped him before he could finish, but finding them will be time-consuming, no matter their exact number. Also, due to the nature of the ritual, is it entirely possible that the wraith, the last fragment, will have to be destroyed separately."_

"Well, back to training then." sighed the wizard, conjuring golden globes of healing lights.

" _Resuming your studies can wait."_ countered the Prince. _"We must discuss a more serious matter first."_

Harry interrupted his spell, frowning.

"And what would that matter be?" he asked warily, wondering if his protector was about to brighten his day or annoy him to Oblivion.

" _Tom Riddle's memories held numerous secrets about Hogwarts."_ answered the daedra. _"I want them."_

Nothing surprising there.

" _And I'm willing to make another deal."_

Now THAT was surprising.

* * *

Harry Potter was in the Hogwarts Express, happily going back to school.

Except that he was _not_ happy, a serious issue plaguing his mind for days now and preventing him from actually enjoying the ride.

"Harry…"

It was worrying, but also extremely tempting.

If he accepted Hermaeus' offer, his safety at Hogwarts would be pretty much ensured, but at the same time, the mere idea of unleashing such a creature on the school, even temporarily, was nauseating.

Could he truly do it? Sacrifice the safety of others for his own?

His memories of the wraith and his own vow to survive were telling him insistingly that yes, he totally could. His morals – and his mom – were disagreeing.

"Harry..."

Hermione's insisting voice tore him out of his daydream and he turned toward the witch.

"Are you okay?" she asked, worryingly looking at him.

"Yeah, sorry." smiled the wizard. "Just… I'm looking forward to this year."

"Oh..."

Hermione could tell that something was bothering him, but she dropped the matter, probably thinking that he would talk about it when he would be ready. She dived back in her book, some stupid thing written by what appeared to be the vainest man in the entire world.

Ron could be a great friend, but he hadn't even noticed the exchange this time. He kept on devouring the sweets bought earlier from the trolley, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded.

Harry… Harry just turned back to his thoughts, looking for a satisfying answer.

* * *

He'd been right, Lockhart was vain. So vain in fact, that he even had a painting of himself, painting a picture of himself.

The test he'd given them had also been utter rubbish, filled to the brim with useless question about the man's nonexistent magnificence. The young wizard had outright refused to answer any question, least the useless teacher's ego would have inflated even more.

Between that and the young Colin Creevey, who was constantly trying to take pictures of him, Harry's irritation reached a new peak while his patience flew out the window.

His decision was taken and on the third day of term, the mystical Chamber of Secret was opened.

* * *

Harry stepped on a bone, breaking it in a sinister crack and almost losing his balance. He barely managed to catch hold of the wall, inadvertently covering his hand in something slimy.

A loud curse left his mouth.

"Do you want Dobby to clean, sir?" chirped a high-pitched voice, startling the wizard.

It was pretty stressful already, to walk around the putrid pathway littered with fluids of unknown origins and meters of shed skins, but that unexpected arrival was too much for his nerves.

Looking around, gripping his chest to calm his rapidly beating heart, Harry came face to face with a pretty familiar elf.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the creature, apparently named Dobby, wondering how it had traveled from Apocrypha.

"Mistress Lily Potter asked Dobby to help Harry Potter Sir." happily said the elf. "Master Hermaeus Mora sent Dobby himself."

Help…

Coming from his mother, it wasn't all that surprising. She wanted him safe, protected, even if he was doing this against her wishes.

But the Prince... he did nothing for free. Either he had already taken the cost of the dimensional portal from his points, or the situation was deemed funny enough to entertain him, the price becoming his contractor's misery.

" _My goal in life isn't to mock you, mortal."_ whispered Hermaeus Mora in his ear. _"I consumed your points."_

Harry sighed, seriously doubting the daedra on that statement.

"Fine, you can clean." he instructed the elf. "Keep the skin somewhere, it could be useful."

"Yes, sir."

The elf got to work, snapping his fingers left and right to erase centuries of filth. Harry ignored him and proceeded down the shaft, soon reaching a locked door covered in serpents. Looking at the reptiles was enough to change something in him and his next word came out as a hiss.

 _[Open.]_

Parseltongue, an ability he'd already used in the past and the only language that could unlock the Chamber of Secret.

With Voldemort being the last recorded wizard to have possessed this power, many witches and wizards considered it to be a dark attribute. It was a sad thought, as according to the Prince, it was in fact a perfectly neutral ability appearing left and right in the Wizardry population without any warning, much like it had appeared in him.

Harry couldn't help but think that genetics had to be involved somewhere. It could be a recessive allele, or a sort of rare mutation on a X-linked gene... he would have to look into that.

The wizard entered deeper in the revealed pipe, soon reaching the Chamber proper... only to gag at the absolutely revolting smell.

 _"The elf shall deal with that."_ said the Prince, ignoring his contractor's discomfort. _"You take care of that basilisk."_

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly got to work.

* * *

Two hours had passed, the circle was completed at last and Harry missed a pint of blood or two.

Tracing that thing had necessitated more of the liquid than all the other dimensional gates he'd created before and the young contractor's head was spinning from the blood loss. Still, he was satisfied.

The basilisk resting behind Salazar's statue could be obedient enough to lay in the circle, or hostile enough to attack him. In the second case, drawing the ritual beforehand would allow him to enact the dimensional shift as soon as the serpent would crawl out of his hole, leaving the beast for Mora to handle and sparing Harry a fight to the death.

Now he just needed to lure the beast out.

 _[Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.]_

At Harry's hiss, the statue's mouth began to move away, revealing a wide opening, leading straight to the basilisk's lair. According to Riddle's memories, the snake would be automatically awakened by the initial command and should join the main chamber right about… now.

 _[Massster?]_

Right on time and it had recognized his authority. No fight today then, excellent news.

 _[Come forth.]_ commanded Harry, eyes closed and locked on the floor. _[Your master needs you.]_

The massive beast was slithering closer now, each undulation producing a horrifying sound as his scales scrapped against the pipe. A loud thump resonated when the basilisk dropped on the ground, the sound of breathing soon filling the entire room. Harry was about to speak when he heard what had to be the very last thing he wanted to hear... ever.

 _[You are not my massster.]_

Sweat began to run down his spine.

The snake was standing right above him – definitely close enough to gobble him up – and was apparently _NOT_ recognizing him as its master… great.

Harry was about to curse, but the next words surprised him enough to abstain.

 _[But you carry his aura…]_

What?

 _[How may I help our massster, Speaker?]_

That snake was crazy, he had nothing to do with Voldemort and he was definitely not carrying his aura. In fact, he wasn't carrying any aura, except for…

"Oh."

* * *

Right of conquest, an old Wizardry law stating that possessions and titles of the defeated witch or wizard were spoils of war for the victor. Because Magic itself was recognizing Hermaeus Mora as the vanquisher of the wraith, everything it had ever owned now belonged to the Prince, including his basilisk.

It was a weird law… but again, the Wizardry World was a weird place.

Harry shrugged and asked the snake to fill the circle, the sound of scales rubbing against stone resuming for a few seconds as the beast coiled around itself. Moments later, a century-old basilisk disappeared from the face of the world in a bright emerald light, a small inky portal leaving a Black Book in its place.

Getting more in tune with daedric energies with each passing day, Harry actually felt the tome from several feet away, the sensation only getting stronger when he caught hold of it.

That was it, point of no return.

In a swift motion, the wizard opened the front cover. He was immediately assaulted by whispers and floating lights, causing him to blink, an ethereal glow shining from inside his eyeballs as forbidden knowledge flowed through his brain.

"So… five days to get it done, six at most." he whispered. "It should be dense enough by mid-October."

Taking a deep breath, Harry started to speak in a guttural language never used before on this realm. Around him, the rules of nature itself slowly got rewritten, replaced by something even more ancient.

* * *

Deep within the castle, something stirred in its sleep.

* * *

In some twisted corners of Oblivion, two daedric Princes felt a sort of sting, a dim sensation of recognition, as if something long forgotten had suddenly been found again.

But whereas the first of them had trouble locating the source, as if something was fogging its senses, the other had no such problem.

 _"Haskill! HASKIIIIIIILL!"_ shouted Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness and ruler of the Shivering Isles.

"What is it, my lord?" asked his chamberlain in his usual monotone voice, standing not five feet away from the mad deity.

 _"Something wonderful just happened."_ replied the daedra, smiling like a loon. "Or something awful, I'm not sure. Anyway, I have some errands to do, shouldn't take more than a couple of days. In the meantime, look after the Isles would you?"

And without even saying goodbye, the Prince disappeared, swallowed by a purple orb of swirling energies.

"He's gone again?" suddenly asked a melodious voice, as one of the Palace's front doors was pushed open.

Haskill sighed.

"Our Lord is taking another vacation." he confirmed, turning to the Duchess of Mania. "For Padomay knows how many centuries…"

The woman smiled tiredly at the frowning Breton, knowing how much their Prince's eccentricities were weighting down on him.

"Don't worry, he will be fine." she said. "He's always fine."

The chamberlain sighed once more.

"I know that… but he doesn't."

It was her time to frown.

"… I'll see if I can locate him."

"Thank you, Duchess."

* * *

An extremely grumpy and sleep-deprived Harry Potter appeared at breakfast on the 5th of September.

He'd spent a quarter of the night sanctifying the Chamber of Secret, though he'd used daedric energy, so the term 'sanctifying' was rather inappropriate. The rest of his sleeping hours had been filled with sweat and blood, the young wizard frequently hurting his hands by handling hammer and chisel.

His reaction was thus perfectly understandable when Oliver Wood began to complain about how he'd missed their early Quidditch training and how the Slytherin team had yet again been a dishonorable bunch of treacherous snakes.

"DO I LOOK LIKE A GIVE A F –"

"Harry!" yelped Hermione, covering her mouth in shock.

Ron just snorted.

"I stayed up all night long and I'm tired, Oliver." sighed the third part of the golden trio. "Go bother someone else."

"But why did you do that?" insistently asked the Gryffindor Captain. "I warned you about the training, didn't I? How are you supposed to play if you're not in shape?"

The young contractor was in so bad a mood that he glared at his housemate and pronounced words that froze solid the poor sixth year… and most of the table.

"Some things are more important that a stupid Quidditch match."

And without looking back, he left the Great hall.

Oliver Wood blanched, looking at his departing star Seeker like he would look at a stranger. Harry Potter, the boy with flying skills that made one wonder if he was somehow born on a broom, had just criticized Quidditch.

Was he crazy or was the world ending?

"Neither."

The eery voice startled every nearby Gryffindors, their eyes widening even more when they found a blond Ravenclaw at their table, casually serving herself a cup of tea.

"Luna?" gasped the young Ginny Weasley, looking incredulously at her childhood friend.

"What he did was exhausting." continued the girl, ignoring the redhead and adding fourteen sugar cubes to her drink. "Please, don't judge him too quickly."

And before any lion could react, she left the table, stealing the beverage.

* * *

Harry rose from his bed in the dead of night, every bones in his body cracking from the now familiar movement.

He'd been working on the stupid thing for five days now, accumulating chisel-induced injuries – ones he couldn't even heal throught Nirnian spells without disturbing the Chamber's daedric consecration. – and losing pints upon pints of blood to refine the materials.

And as if all that physical tension hadn't been enough, his angry breakdown on the first day had also been witnessed by the majority of the school, the others hearing about it through the rumor mill, which meant that his social position was rather unstable at the moment. Even his friends were distant, probably wondering if talking to him would trigger a good or a bad reaction.

But even physically and mentally exhausted, the wizard was joyous.

In a few minutes, his work would be completed and everything would be back to… well, maybe not normal, but at least he would be able to sleep properly and spend some time with Ron and Hermione, maybe even apologize to Oliver and stay in the team…

Smiling softly, the wizard covered himself with his invisibility cloak and left the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

Being a prefect in Hogwarts was a privilege, a mark of excellence, a way to differentiate the most dedicated students from the others.

If regular PE classes had been a core subject at Hogwarts, every prefect would have earned top marks, with a distinction.

"Stop!"

Cedric Diggory, fifth year prefect for Hufflepuff, was currently pursuing a young Ravenclaw around the hallways. She was a first year, if he wasn't mistaking, probably trying to impress her roommates by breaking curfew.

"I said stop!" reiterated the young man, throwing a _Body-Bind Curse_ at the fugitive.

The blond girl dived… no, bounced to the side, letting the spell hit a wall uselessly. She wasn't running, she was _dancing_ away… it was insane.

Cedric cursed as the Ravenclaw took a corner, leaving his sight. Accelerating, the fifth year went after her and… crashed head-first into the girl.

"We're here." she said, not even fazed by the impact. "And you shouldn't run into other people like that."

The prefect coughed violently for ten seconds, holding his crushed stomach. Once he recovered enough to move, he reached for his wand, only to find it missing.

"You won't need it." said the girl who, from the look of it, was now using both of their wands as hair pins. "And we don't want to make Harry nervous."

She turned away from him, instead looking into what looked like a bathroom.

"Do we Harry?"

Silence… and then…

"How did you know?"

Cedric almost cursed again as Harry Potter appeared out of nowhere, wand in hand. That patrol was going more and more out of control.

" _He_ told me." replied the girl, as if that answer was obvious.

The Hufflepuff gulped when the Gryffindor glanced at him, his eyes promising pain. He'd never given it any credit before, but the rumor that Potter was a dark sorcerer in training suddenly came back to mind.

"Who are you?" asked the young wizard, a frown creasing his brow. "Both of you?"

"My name is Luna Lovegood, first year in Ravenclaw." answered the girl, before introducing him too. "This is Cedric Diggory, fifth year and prefect in Hufflepuff. A pleasure to me you, Harry… you too, Prince."

The Gryffindor took a step back. She could have slapped him and the result wouldn't have been any different.

"How…?" he asked, his face displaying his confusion.

"I told you, _He_ told me." insisted the witch, before shrugging. "Plus, it's rather obvious, if you know what to look for."

Potter remained frozen, his mouth slightly opened.

Cedric briefly envisaged retrieving his wand, now that the two youngsters were distracted… but the girl looked at him and grinned like a predator. He wisely decided to forget this course of action and wait for this mess to clean itself.

"Can we move to the Chamber now?" asked Luna. "You need to finish _His_ brother' _s_ altar and Cedric must meet _Their_ sister."

Instead of answering, Potter began to mumbled. His words were barely a whisper, but remained loud enough for the acoustic of the castle in the middle of the night to carry them around.

"I don't get it... No, I get that. But how can she…?"

Strangely enough, he marked pauses here and there, as if he was having an actual conversation.

"What do you mean ' _your dear brother_ '?"

Maybe Potter wasn't a dark sorcerer at all, maybe he was just insane.

"But… which one would…? Prince of... what? What does cheese have to do with anything?"

"I love cheese!" suddenly chirped Lovegood, a huge smile on her face. "Cheese for everyone!"

Right, so they were both crazy.

"… fine, I swear that I won't ask about the cheese ever again." deadpanned the Gryffindor. "But what do I do about…?"

He seemed to get his answer because he sighed deeply, lowered his wand and did something that blew Cedric's mind even further.

 _[Open.]_

Parselmouth? Harry Potter, Golden Boy of Gryffindor and vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was A FREAKING PARSELMOUTH?!

That dark sorcerer rumor was so much more believable now.

"Get in there." instructed the second year, gesturing at the gaping hole left behind by the bathroom's sink. "And don't try anything stupid, I'm feeling stunner-happy."

A few angry red sparks forming above his wand punctuated that statement.

Cedric complied and jumped down the pipe, immediately followed by Lovegood's frantic laugh and Potter's hiss, closing the access behind them. Feeling the wind blow around him, his fall getting faster and faster, the Hufflepuff began to wonder if he was condemned to die in some sordid sewer.

* * *

The Chamber of Secret, Potter had found Salazar Slytherin's mythical Chamber and was using it for… something.

Ever since they'd stepped inside the room, the second year had been kneeling by a strange altar, sculpting unfamiliar inscriptions on the rock. Similar scriptures decorated the lining of red banners hanging from the wall, which were also sporting some sort of symbol, a stylized eye surrounded by four twisted lines.

Most impressive of all was the giant sculpture, occupying the entire back wall with countless eyes and… those looked like alga, he supposed.

No snakes, not the smallest drawing of a reptile... was this really the Chamber of Secret?

While Potter was working on his stone-engraving skills, Lovegood was looking after him, playing with her wand. She was also talking continuously, about how their fall had been fun and how unfair it was that the Gryffindor had got to do it seven days in a row, except that she couldn't truly be jealous because of the whole bloody daedric ritual thingy… Cedric had no idea what she was talking about.

A pulse of dense magical energy suddenly washed over the entire room, taking the Hufflepuff out of his thoughts.

"What the..." he began, turning to Potter.

His question instantly died in his throat.

There, floating above the altar, where three… beings.

The strangest of them looked exactly like the giant sculpture, his – her? its? – body formed by nothing but a oily pool, pierced by a mass of eyes and things that definitely weren't alga.

The next one appeared as a man sporting white hair, an equally immaculate beard and strangely bisected half-purple/half-orange clothes. His cat-like yellow eyes and the fact that he was floating upside-down announced quite clearly that he was just as inhuman as his neighbor.

And finally, there was the woman...

" _Sheogorath? Hermaeus?"_ she asked, her clear voice reverberating around the room. _"_ _W_ _hat are you doing here?"_

" _Herm is extending his domain."_ cheerfully replied the man, gesturing at the completed altar. _"I only came to greet you."_

Grinning madly, he floated toward her and planted a kiss on her hand.

" _Welcome to Hogwarts, Nocty."_


	3. Ripples

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _If you gaze long into the past, the past gazes also into you._

* * *

Ripples

* * *

Cedric Diggory was openly gaping at the floating woman.

Nocty – was that truly her name? – had delicate traits and a fair body, draped in loose dark blue robes which emphasized her pale skin. Her black hair was falling on her bust as her clothes left not a cleavage but a massive opening from her shoulders down to her midriff. Two massive ravens were also standing on her forearms, looking around with the same piercing eyes as their mistress.

She was gorgeous.

The Hufflepuff stared at the goddess – for she could only be one – feeling strangely drawn to her and slowly realizing that his life had just changed forever, yet unable to say if it truly was for the best or not. His musing was interrupted when the eyes/tentacles thing… Herm, or Hermaeus as she'd called him… it… whatever, spoke in an ill-sounding tone.

" _What are YOU doing here,_ _Nocturn_ _al?_ _T_ _his realm is supposed to be locked down."_

So her full name was Nocturnal, a fitting name for such a refined lady.

" _Don't be silly, big brother."_ smiled the white-haired man, Sheo-something. _"Nothing is ever truly locked."_

Wait, he was related to that thing?

" _I am not your brother, Sheogorath."_ growled the eldritch abomination.

That was it, Sheogorath… weird name.

"Sister then?" grinned the first-year Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood, apparently perfectly at ease.

All three beings turned to the girl as one. From the corner of his eyes, Cedric saw Harry Potter facepalm.

" _Who are you, mortal?"_ asked Nocturnal, directing at Luna the same look of disbelief that Cedric was giving to this entire scene.

" _Oh, I know, I know."_ exclaimed Sheogorath, waving his right arm around like a six-years old. _"That's Luna Lovegood, she's fun."_

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Nocturnal." bowed the blonde, before repeating her gesture toward the mass of eyes and tentacles. "You too, Lord Mora."

" _You chose a Champion already?"_ asked the Lady with a frown. _"When did you find that realm exactly?"_

" _A few years ago, through some stupid accident."_ provided the madman. _"_ _Herm found it first_ _though,_ _made a deal with young mister Potter there._ _"_

" _Don't. Call. Me. Herm!"_

" _Whatever."_ he waved his brother – or sister? – off. _"A_ _nd she's not my Champion, Nocty. I'm just looking after her."_

The woman and the mass of eyes seemed surprised by that last assertion.

" _You never look after anyone but yourself and your denizens."_ pointed out the creature, suspicion gleaming in its countless orbits. _"Why would you bother yourself with that girl?"_

In a split second, the jovial and most-assuredly crazy man was gone. His expression suddenly seemed carved out of the coldest of stone and capable of extinguishing entire solar systems.

" _That's n_ _one of your business,_ _brother_ _."_

The massive pressure accompanying the words made the threat quite clear, and the danger even more so. This Sheogorath person wasn't a man anymore, he was a beast, a primordial creature ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Cedric's legs gave up under him and he fell to the floor, choking on his own spit as oxygen slowly failed to reach his vital organs.

* * *

The situation was getting out of control fast and Harry didn't like it one bit.

Sheogorath, Daedric Lord of Madness, had crawled out of his realm of Oblivion to pay them a little visit. He'd hijacked Harry's freshly constructed altar and was now happily crushing Cedric Diggory with his presence.

" _Sheogorath,_ _calm down."_ asked Lady Nocturnal, Daedric Prince of the Night, Darkness and Shadows, who'd also joined their little reunion. _"You're crushing_ _the mortal."_

" _Who cares?_ _He_ _was_ _drooling_ _on you anyway_ _."_ said the Prince, a slight gleam of amusement sparkling in his predatory yellow eyes. _"_ _You know what, I s_ _hould remove that tongue of_ _hi_ _s, to teach_ _him_ _some manners."_

"But then he wouldn't be able to eat cheese" said Luna, kneeling by the Hufflepuff and gently rubbing his back as he was still suffocating. The strange Ravenclaw had obviously hang out with the Mad God, even if it wasn't as a Champion, as she seemed attuned and completely unaffected by the waves of daedric energies.

Her words seemed to do the trick as the immense pressure lifted instantly, the bipolar god casting aside his murderous attitude.

" _You're right, that would be awful."_ he said. _"Still, a punishment is due… and I have just the thing."_

His fingers snapped, a grin splitting his face. Cedric went from a choking mess of a young man to a freaked out ball of furry nerves.

Harry was tempted to ask if the Prince was serious.

" _A badger?"_ observed Nocturnal with a raised eyebrow.

" _Mister Diggory is a proud member of_ _House_ _Hufflepuff. Their_ _spirit animal,_ _the badger_ _,_ _supposedly_ _symbolizes stuff like hard work and fair play."_ explained Sheogorath, smiling at Luna which was cooing and hugging the frightened animal to death. _"Awfully bo~ring, if you ask me. I only considered_ _the boy_ _for his loyalty."_

" _Considered him for what?"_ asked Hermaeus Mora, still appearing bored while he really was telepathically reminding his young contractor to stay silent and away from the Mad God.

" _As a replacement, of course."_ replied the daedra as if it was obvious, pointing at Harry. _"_ _She'll want_ _Potter, but you won't let her have him, hence she needs a substitute."_

Mora frowned. Nocturnal frowned even harder. As for Harry's mind, it was stuck on a single question: 'What?'

" _Why would she want MY contractor?"_ questioned Hermaeus, his voice sharper than ever.

Harry had to blink as the Mad God suddenly appeared right in front of him, smirking and holding… his cloak? What did his cloak have to do with anything? And was it… glowing? Since when was his cloak glowing?

" _B_ _EHOLD_ _–"_ boomed Sheogorath, making dramatic gestures for his audience. _"– the mighty Cloak of Shadows, created by none other than our dear Nocty here for_ _Potter's ancestor,_ _a certain_ _Ignotus_ _Peverell… remember him?"_

What?

Nocturnal's mouth opened wide in clear shock, as her sibling gave her the precious object.

" _How?"_ she whispered, mesmerized by the shining fabric.

" _Is that cloak truly yours?"_ asked a doubtful Mora, eyes looking at both his sibling and the artifact.

" _It is."_ she responded, regaining her composure. _"_ _Though_ _I believed it destroyed_ _over a millennium_ _ago."_

" _And yet, it_ _drawn you to this realm."_ observed Sheogorath. _"Here, let me tell you a story."_

A shadow theater was nonchalantly conjured, its characters' silhouettes slowly coming to life through conjuration magic to accompany the daedra's tale.

" _There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight._ _They met Death itself and came out of this encounter with three powerful tokens, namely the Cloak of Invisibility, the Stone of Resurrection and the unbeatable Elder Wand._ _"_ he began, the theater's background turning into the described scene. _"_ _But_ _this_ _'Tale of the Three Brothers'_ _i_ _s a_ _pile of_ _Baliwog_ _shit,_ _so let's get_ _back to the real version_ _."_

Sheogorath clapped his hands, erasing the previous scene from the small theater in favor of a corrected adaptation.

" _There were once three brothers who were peacefully talking to one another in their ancestral home of Cheydinhal, when an uninvited guest decided to crash the party."_

Three silhouettes, the brothers, arguing. A fourth, cloaked and masked, walking in on the heated exchange.

" _I don't know where you wizards got the ludicrous idea that they somehow met Death, when all they really met that day was a jealous Nightingale."_

A hood thrown back, a mask removed, a vicious smirk.

" _Jenus_ _L_ _arton – that's the jealous prat – resented his fellow thief,_ _Ignotus_ _Peverell,_ _for being in Nocty's favors_ _._ _Blinded by his hatred, he broke_ _the_ _Nightingale vow_ _for the very first time in recorded history_ _and started what would eventually become a trend, stealing the prime Skeleton Key for his own nefarious purposes."_

The fiend revealed a strangely-shaped key. It had three separate bits, a spiked circled surrounding the stem and was crowned by a spherical bow.

Harry was officially beyond lost, while Nocturnal was officially beyond pissed with her former agent, her ravens cawing loudly in obvious displeasure.

" _Yada yada yada, Larton uses the key to open not a door but a rift through the_ _Aurbis_ _._ _Ignotus_ _is erased from Nirn, along with his two brothers and your cloak, leading you to believe that they'd been destroyed –"_

A gaping portal opened, swallowing not only the brothers' silhouettes, but the entire shadow theater.

"– _when in truth they'd only been displaced to this realm,_ _your link with them being disrupted by the dimensional shift_ _until Herm commissioned this nifty little altar of his,_ _allowing_ _your a_ _r_ _tifact to_ _fe_ _ed on_ _the_ _energy leaks_ _._ _The end._ _"_ concluded the Mag God, grinning. _"_ _Don't forget to comment, like or leave a tip."_

* * *

Cedric Diggory would have probably reacted quite spectacularly if he'd known that his fellow wizard, Harry Potter, had had an ancestor coming from another dimension.

But strangely enough, once the initial shock of being transformed into a badger by a mad creature and fussed over by a blonde Ravenclaw had gone away, he'd started to like the sensations that the girl's fingers were making in his fur. Soft purrs had started to come out of his throat and he'd ceased to struggle.

He didn't hear any of the Mad God's explanation.

* * *

" _So, Potter has Nirnian blood."_ summarized Hermaeus Mora.

He was seeing his slack-jawed contractor in a new light.

" _It certainly_ _explain_ _s_ _the lightning_ _affinity,_ _a_ _mong other_ _things_ _."_ he telepathically conveyed to the wizard. _"W_ _hat_ _it doesn't_ _explain though,_ _i_ _s Sheogorath's exact role in all of this."_

"W… what do you mean?" asked the young Potter, finally out of his stupor.

His thoughts were still running wildly, plagued by the mass of improbable information he'd just been bombarded with. It was rather funny and Hermaeus almost chuckled… almost.

" _There's too many unknowns, I don't like it. How did he discover the realm? How did he feel the altar?"_

"Through Lovegood?" offered the boy.

" _Maybe…_ _then_ _she_ _also_ _would have informed him about the 'Tale of the Three Brothers'. But how did he know about the cloak, when I myself didn't feel its power?"_

" _Accident, through Luna, yes,_ _and_ _I met Larton when he_ _started to go_ _batshit crazy_ _. That Nightingale was one talkative bastard._ _"_ answered the Mad God, speaking out loud. _"Also, sorry for hijacking your little conversation, but Potter was broadcasting in his confusion. You really should teach him to shield his mind."_

" _Stay away from him_ _, Sheogorath."_ growled Hermaeus.

" _Yeah, he's your toy. Don't worry Herm, I get it."_

The Prince of Fate contemplated brutally maiming his relative for yet another use of that degrading nickname, but his need for answers was greater than his desire to sooth his nerves.

" _What about the stone and the wand?"_

" _What about them?"_

" _Are they also of daedric nature? This world already managed to create a tale out of an Artifact, could the rest of it contains a grain of truth too?"_

" _Honestly, I can't say."_ shrugged the other daedra. _"Larton only knew about the cloak."_

" _What about you, Nocturnal?"_ asked Hermaeus, turning to their other sibling. _"Surely you kept an eye on your Nightingale and his family."_

The Prince of Darkness, who'd stayed silent ever since Sheogorath's story, nodded stiffly.

" _I did."_ she acknowledged. _"_ _T_ _hose items do exist_ _and belonged to Ignotus' brothers,_ _but y_ _ou are_ _only_ _partly right_ _regarding their nature._ _"_

He lifted a dozen eyebrows.

" _Partly right?"_

" _The elder brother, Antioch, did own a Daedric Artifact. It wasn't a wand though, but a staff of great power."_

A staff... which meant that either the Wizarding World had twisted the tale to match their beliefs, the Artifact had somehow adapted itself to its new environment, or the wand had truly been carved out of its wood.

" _Which Prince does it answer to?"_

" _The Staff of Thirst_ _belongs to..._ _"_

Nocturnal hesitated. The ever collected and resolute Lady Luck actually hesitated… definitely not a good sign.

" _It_ _belongs… to Mehrunes Dagon."_ she finally admitted.

Hermaeus sighed.

Destruction, change, revolution, energy and ambition, such were the spheres of influence of Mehrunes Dagon. An unbeatable magical focus that could only be acquired by killing its previous master was definitely his kind of toy.

And considering the history between Sheogorath – whose face was currently blooming into a way too innocent smile – and Mehrunes, Nocturnal's reluctance was perfectly understandable.

" _Me_ _h_ _ru?! I haven't seen him in_ _AGES_ _."_ said the Mad God, sounding almost concerned with the absence of their relative. _"_ _You think he'll drop by for a visit?"_

That question may have been filled to the brim with a deep brotherly feeling, an almost physical manifestation of one's eagerness to see his family, Sheogorath's true thoughts regarding the four-armed Prince were still betrayed by the murderous gleam in his eyes… and the large silvery sword he was abruptly swinging around.

He'd entered his murder-happy phase and while it wouldn't usually be a problem, the fact that he'd done so standing right next to two mortals and a badger was rather worrying.

" _Sheogorath, lower your weapon."_

No reaction.

" _Sheogorath!"_

The crazy Prince just kept on playing with his old sword, seemingly unaware of his brother's presence. His temporary trance was thankfully interrupted by the sudden crowing from one of Nocturnal's ravens.

" _Moderate yourself, Sheogorath."_ the Prince of Night reprimanded him, as he blinked out of his daze. _"There are mortals here."_

The mad God grumbled but cooperated, his weapon vanishing swiftly.

" _Killjoy..."_

With the paranoid schizoid psychopathic obsessive sociopath no longer on the verge of brutally murdering the entire school, Hermaeus turned to Nocturnal and brought back their previous topic.

" _So, you said that I was only partly right. I assume then, that the stone isn't a Daedric Artifact?"_

" _It doesn't hail from Oblivion, no."_ she confirmed, before dropping a metaphorical bomb. _"It comes from the Void."_

What?

" _Sithis blessed it, a gift for the Night Mother after she sent their children to him."_

" _Wow,_ _grandpa_ _did this?"_ whistled Sheogorath in appreciation. _"_ _The sly fox probably used one of her old assassination-advertising stone for it._ _E_ _xtra romantic."_

It was amazing, really, how his previous anger had vanished into nothingness and given way to the returning madness.

" _How did it come into Cadmus Peverell's possession?_ _"_ asked Hermaeus, wondering if the realm was risking total annihilation for hosting a stolen relic from the Dread Father.

" _He was a Speaker from the Dark Brotherhood."_ replied Nocturnal. _"The stone was used to summon the Night Mother when a new Listener was to be chosen."_

That answer had the effect of simultaneously reassuring the Prince of Fate and irritating the Prince of Madness.

" _A_ _RE YOU_ _KIDDING ME_ _?! I had to crawl in that smelly_ _crypt_ _of her_ _s_ _and support Bellamon_ _t'_ _s_ _irritating_ _wailing for THREE ENTIRE MINUTES, just because of Larton's idiocy?"_ complained Sheogorath, still obviously irked about his old mortal life despite centuries of existence. _"Damn, if I hadn't been another me then, I would have skinned the guy with his own fingernails and thrown him to a coven of Hags during mating season._ _Then I would have found a mountain bear and –"_

Great, another episode.

* * *

Harry blinked, more than a bit disturbed by the Mad God's furious rant. It had been going on for a couple of minutes now, slowly becoming more imaginative and disgusting. The young wizard was seriously questioning the feasibility of some of those statements, which just sounded anatomically impossible.

"– _before covering him in horse manure! With a pure scamp bristle toothbrush!"_ concluded the Prince. _"Anyway, where were we again?"_

"You were talking about the Hallows." absentmindedly replied Luna, still brushing her fingers through the fur of a much more relaxed Cedric Diggory.

" _Right, right, the trinkets… hm, what about them?"_

" _They can't be left unsupervised."_ affirmed Nocturnal. _"_ _W_ _ith_ _Sithis'_ _usual laid-back attitude,_ _u_ _nleashing_ _him_ _on this realm_ _wouldn't really_ _change anything_ _, but calling_ _Mehrunes…_ _it_ _would only cause wanton destruction._ _The wand must return to Nirn."_

Harry agreed totally. No unnecessary death and devastation on his world, and no summoning of violent demon gods, thank you very much. Also, he wouldn't be against getting his cloak back… not that he would dare ask Nocturnal.

" _A good old treasure hunt._ _Sounds fun, count_ _m_ _e_ _in."_

Sheogorath acted like an adventure junkie, delight tainting his voice… weird.

" _We can't look for them ourselves, Sheogorath."_ said the Prince of Night. _"_ _Contrarily to Nirn, t_ _h_ _is realm_ _isn't saturated_ _in Daedric energies_ _."_

" _Well, you may be restricted to this altar, and Herm to Potter, but_ _I_ _'m not exactly like you now, am I?_ _"_ smirked the Mad God. _"_ _I just need a few followers, and lucky me, m_ _adness is welcomed everywhere._ _There's more than enough lunatics around the Wizardry World."_

" _Those aren't followers."_ frowned Hermaeus. _"_ _Th_ _ey don't believe in you._ "

" _They're all mad,_ _Herm. S_ _ame difference."_

Harry had learned that to appear on the mortal plane, either in person or through an Avatar, Daedric Princes needed to have enough influence over it, usually gained through followers or consecrated altars.

And here was Sheogorath, casually stating that he could incarnate himself around every single crazy person in the world, even if said person had never even heard of the Prince.

The jealousy in Hermaeus' countless eyes was clearly visible.

" _It changes nothing."_ stated Nocturnal. _"Your mere presence would energize the wand and we don't want to_ _alert_ _Mehrunes._ "

" _Y_ _OU_ _don't."_ corrected the Prince.

Nocturnal glared, helped by her ravens.

" _Fine."_ pouted the Mad God. " _Just have Potter send them to Apocrypha_ _then,_ _Her_ _m_ _can_ _put them_ _back on Nirn_ _afterward. P_ _roblem solved."_

" _It_ _seems to be_ _a_ _suiting_ _solution_ _."_ she agreed, turning toward the wizard. _"What do you say, young sorcerer?_ _Do you accept this task?_ _"_

Harry really wanted to curse, as he was burdened with yet another chore that would probably occupy a good amount of the free time he would otherwise use on more urgent matters, like defending himself from manic dark wizards.

But swearing in presence of three daedra would have been the textbook definition of a bad idea, while avoiding a daedric invasion from Dagon's army seemed like an acceptable goal. Swallowing his displeasure, he bowed deeply to the Prince of Night.

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Nocturnal."

" _That's a good minion."_ commented Sheogorath. _"Luna, be a dear and help the kissass,_ _okay?_ _"_

"Okay." beamed the girl. "But what about Cedric?"

She was now holding the badger at arms' length, practically shoving it in the Prince's face.

" _The fleabag could help, I suppose."_ he mused, tapping his chin. _"_ _Alright, p_ _ut him down."_

The Ravenclaw obeyed and in a snap of the Mad Prince's fingers, the badger became human once more.

" _Mister Diggory, so glad that you could join us. How did you enjoy being a true Hufflepuff?"_

The fifth year was clearly shocked by his recent ordeal and merely managed a weak 'Huh...'

" _That's good to hear. Tell me, do you value your trivial and pathetic human life? No, don't answer please, I REALLY don't care. Now, do you value your memories? Don't bother answering that either, I know I won't bother listening."_

Cedric looked totally overwhelmed by the daedra's accelerated diction, his mouth agape and his eyes wide in stupor.

" _So, you have two choices._ _T_ _hree, if you include_ _a_ _slow and painful death."_ continued the Prince, raising a first finger. _"One, you_ _can_ _act like any cute blonde-pigtailed ten years old little girl in any movie ever – except the most bizarre ones where the girl has a machine-gun o_ _r_ _weird psychic powers and stuff – and_ _run_ _away. We erase your memory, replace the entire event with something fun like an act of copulation with a centaur_ _or something,_ _and_ _Luna spends the rest of your scholarship spreading rumors about it._ _"_

That was Sheogorath's definition of fun?

Ew.

" _Two –"_ he continued, presenting another finger. _"– you man up and do your job, as a proud and dedicated Hogwarts Prefect. You let yourself be dragged into this_ _sordid_ _affair,_ _make a pact with Nocty here,_ _and try to protect your_ _poor and innocent_ _fellow students from the evil that we represent."_

Well, none of those Princes were exactly considered as purely evil, but the older wizard had no way of knowing that. And evil or not, those three could still cause quite a stir, especially the Mad God.

" _There's also the third choice_ _,_ _where_ _I turn you back into a badger and Luna keeps you as a pet. Wait, waitwaitwait! Silly me, that's number four. Three was killing you slowly and painfully._ _"_ rectified the daedra, sounding almost apologetic. _"_ _There you go, four options, four outcomes._ _Take your pick."_

Diggory had blanched more and more with each proposition, slowly turning white as a sheet.

"I'll take the pact!" he blurred out, clearly panicked.

The only reasonable answer. The last two options were just insufferable and the social fallout of the first one would have frightened anyone.

" _My, what an enthusiastic young follower you have there Nocty."_ beamed Sheogorath. _"Where did you find him?"_

" _Don't threaten the mortal, Sheogorath."_ she admonished him. _"Especially not in my name."_

" _Come on Nocty, don't fool yourself. That's my job, remember?"_ replied the Mad God. _"You NEED a foothold in this realm if you want to stick around, and don't tell me that you don't because I'd have to call you a liar and I would hate that."_

Nocturnal frowned, but didn't contradict him.

" _Look, Herm won't hand over Potter, or even let you use his altar any longer unless there's something in it for him. You know, cause he's MEAN and doesn't like to share."_

" _I. Hate. You."_

" _See? Mean. So please, burrow your morals and strike a deal with the guy so generously provided by good old me. You'll thank me later."_

" _This isn't about morals, Sheogorath! This is about free will!"_ snapped Nocturnal. _"_ _The Nightingale Pact is an instrument of liberation for those wishing_ _to_ _escape the_ _Aedra_ _'_ _s_ _grasp and reclaim their freedom._ _Forcing it on a mortal would go against the very essence of the pact._ _"_

" _Your birdies serve you in life and death, that's no freedom. Don't be a hypocrite Nocty, and call them what they are… pawns."_

Harsh, but pretty accurate nonetheless. Neutral or not, the Prince of Darkness remained a daedra, with 'robbing mortals from their eternal rest in Aetherius' as her favorite hobby.

She was now glaring so intensely at Sheogorath that Harry was half-expecting him to spontaneously combust.

" _Fine, have it your way."_ sighed the insane daedra, turning back to the Hufflepuff. _"Congratulation my furry friend, you just got a respite. Since my dear sister_ _is sticking_ _her head_ _so_ _deep_ _in the sand_ _that she could probably rediscover_ _some of_ _Elsweyr_ _'s lost cities_ _, I can't force you into anything and you'll have to choose for yourself._ _T_ _ake a few days,_ _have_ _Luna or Potter_ _explain to you what the pact entails, and_ _come back with an answer for us._ _You can join the club, or let Herm replace your memories with a boring studying session o_ _r_ _something._ _Happy?"_

Cedric could only nod dumbly, appearing somewhat reassured to deal with the eldritch deity rather than the mad one.

" _Good, and please, d_ _on't_ _take too long. E_ _ven someone as understanding and tolerant as I –"_

Had Hermaeus just snorted?

"– _can run out of patience. If by next Middas, you're still indecisive, I'll_ _lose my cool and do… something_ _painful, probably… and definitely humiliating, like that._ _"_

A pulsating teal-colored orb appeared before the daedra and sped toward the wizard, wrapping him in a maelstrom of light for a second before disappearing. The Hufflepuff gasped, his eyes growing wide in fear at the unexpected attack.

" _Don't worry, it's a prett_ _y harmless_ _spell."_ assured Sheogorath. _"Merely an insurance that you won't spill the beans to the_ _entire castle."_

The fifth year didn't have enough time to even wonder what kind of spell he'd exactly been hit with, as the daedra's glance left him to sweep over the other students. He then spoke again in an almost reproachful voice.

" _Now, it's getting pretty late and_ _all_ _you_ _kids are_ _way past your curfew. Off you go_ _punks_ _, or I'll have you_ _all_ _in detention. Toodles!"_

The two wizards and the witch were instantly swallowed by a swirling portal.

Cedric was once more wearing a surprised expression, while Luna only waved at the Mad God. As for Harry, he'd begun to curse mentally in a most inappropriate language as he disappearing from the Chamber of Secret, on his way to the Gryffindor quarters… hopefully.

* * *

Harry awoke mid-curse and lost his train of thoughts. It was for the best though, or he would have probably blurred his insults out-loud and woken up his roommates.

Glancing around him, the wizard observed that he was laying fully clothed in his bed. What a relief, Sheogorath had apparently decided not to screw up with him anymore than the forceful teleportation right in the middle of a conversation already had. He'd returned him to his dorm instead of sending him thousands of miles away just for the hell of it.

" _He wouldn't have done that."_

Hermaeus Mora's voice didn't even faze the contractor, by now used to the Prince's abrupt comments.

"Really?" silently asked the wizard. "He already jaunted me across the castle, what prevents him from doing so across the country?"

" _He's the Mad God, not the stupid one. For as long as you remain under my protection, he won't dare to hurt you."_

Harry blinked and remembered that indeed, his guardian was a daedra too. It was strangely comforting and a tension he hadn't known existed suddenly left his body, his gaze slowly turning toward the windows and the morning sun shining through them.

How long had he slept exactly? A quick _Tempus_ and he had his answer. It was 7.32 a.m., he'd slept for almost eight hours. Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron should be up shortly and class wouldn't start until 9 a.m.

The wizard sighed and dragged himself out of the bed. Going back to sleep for a mere ten minutes would have been pointless anyway.

* * *

Breakfast in Hogwarts… scratch that, any kind of meal taken in the Great Hall was like some sort of comedy play in a theater. There was always an unexpected event that would bring romance, drama, thrills and excitement in the life of the castle's residents, usually feeding the rumor mill at the same time.

As it was merely the second week of classes, most of the first years were still unaware of that fact… before that particular morning, that is.

Many conversations around the room came to an abrupt end when the hall's gigantic doors were pushed open by a certain Hufflepuff prefect. In three strides, the wizard approached a young Ravenclaw at her House's table and asked a question that surprised many people.

"Where's my wand?"

Watching from the Gryffindor table, Harry briefly wondered what Cedric didn't understand about the universal concept called 'staying discreet'.

Luna Lovegood looked up at the older student with wide, innocent-looking eyes.

"How would I know?"

The Hufflepuff's anger rose and he snarled his next word.

"You stole it!"

Weirdly enough, those words were overlapping with another sentence, this one heard not only by Luna and Harry but the entire hall.

"I think I left it in your room."

Those distorted words, clearly the result of Sheogorath's spell, were enough to put the school in gossip-mode, hushed tones coming from all four tables, questioning the exact relationship between the Hufflepuff prefect and the much younger Ravenclaw. The jealousy of a good portion of the witches awoke at the exact same time, the girls glaring at the young Ravenclaw and wondering what _their_ Cedric could possibly see in her.

"Oh… right." said the blonde, faking a sudden remembrance and pointing an accusative finger at him. "You should try to be more careful with your things, silly."

The Hufflepuff replied with a most unusual 'Screw you!'

"I'll try, Lu." heard the students.

With the new nickname, the gossips and heinous stares went up in rank. Hogwarts had seemingly gained a new official-unofficial couple. Some of the professors started to look either uncomfortable, outraged or disbelieving, likely because of the age difference between the two protagonists.

Harry sighed.

The Mad God had just put Cedric and Luna under the spotlight, when it was precisely what they'd been avoiding in the first place. How were they supposed to lay low if the Prince brought the attention of the entire school on them?

" _He's not that_ _mad_ _."_ whispered Hermaeus Mora. _"Watch."_

"You definitely had it when I practiced my Transfiguration, but I can't remember seeing it when you helped me with History of Magic."

Luna's words startled Cedric and he barely managed a surprised 'What?'

However, his word became a confirmation to the rest of the hall, which instantly relaxed. Obviously, they'd jumped to conclusions and Cedric Diggory was only helping the girl in her studies. Some of the teachers began to compliment Pomona Sprout for her student's dedication to his new prefect title.

"It wasn't on my desk this morning –" continued Luna, ignoring the Hufflepuff's growing incredulity. "– so it must have rolled under it. Come on, let's check."

Without further ado, she jumped out of her chair, grabbed the unmoving wizard by the sleeve and dragged him out of the hall.

Harry ignored the continuing hushed conversations and finished his bowl of cereal, musing over what he'd just witnessed. Lovegood had just claimed Diggory as a professor to explain their relationship and any future disappearance would now be explainable by 'We were studying together.'

A pretty clever move.

He should probably do something similar… but he would think about that later. Those days spent on Hermaeus' altar had really strained his relationship with his friends and Oliver Wood. For now, he would focus on those apologies, and whatever bullshit story he would come up with to explain his disappearance whenever he would train or visit the Chamber could probably wait for a day or two.

The wizard finished him meal and exited the Great Hall, making his way to class… and his friends

* * *

Trading things with the Prince of Knowledge was always a bit risky, as you could never be totally sure that whatever you would receive wouldn't be impossible for you to use, render you utterly mad or even leave you with unwanted body alterations.

Harry had thankfully learned his lesson after the wandless-magic guide. His rewards for sending the Basilisk to Apocrypha, and later consecrating the Chamber of Secret to the daedra, had been selected through a properly written contract, with every covering clauses the wizard could think off.

In exchange for the Basilisk, he'd obtained five different spell books, all of them from the school of Alteration, that would teach him various levels of mage armor. With the kind of enemies that were out for his life, the wizard wanted to be able to use Dragonhide by the end of the year. Finding a way to keep it active at every moment would then further enhance his defensive capabilities.

The Scholar's Insight ability, while being but the first part of his reward for the new altar, would also be invaluable. The thing hadn't rewired his brain, nor had it actually made him smarter or a faster reader, but his mind had been cleared of a sort of fog, allowing him to remember things more easily. He would still have to work for his knowledge, but retaining it wouldn't be as difficult as before. According to Hermaeus, it should help him tremendously.

Sadly for Harry, what goes up must come down. Way too satisfied with his latest acquisitions, and way too used to his… okay, Nocturnal's cloak, the wizard failed to pay attention to his surroundings as he sneaked into the Gryffindor common room. A lone figure mutely rose from one of the armchair and watched the frowning wizard, clearly lost in deep thoughts, as he disappeared up the staircase.

"I almost believed you, you know?" softly said the voice, looking at the now empty spot where Harry had stood seconds ago. "'I was just feeling out after the holidays, I'll be fine now.' you said…"

The shadow shook its head, its disappointment evident.

"I really should have known better…"

Turning around, Hermione Granger returned to her own dorm.

"That's not being fine, you idiot." she whispered, leaving the silent common room behind her.

* * *

At the exact same time, in the Shivering Isles' capital of New Sheot, a gracious woman approached the Mad God's Palace. Saluting the Golden Saint and Dark Seducer guards, she pushed open the front door and made her way toward the empty throne of madness.

"A good day to you, Milady." greeted Haskill, bowing slightly to the approaching Duchess of Mania. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I have found our Lord." declared the woman. "He seems to be moving repeatedly between the realms of Darkness and Forbidden Knowledge."

"Indeed?" said the Breton, raising an interested eyebrow. "Lady Nocturnal and Lord Herma-Mora… how very curious."

"I find it quite peculiar too." confessed the Duchess. "If it's not a problem to you, I would like to entrust Mania to High Priest Dervenin for the time being and visit our Lord personally."

"It is quite alright." answered the chamberlain, bowing once again. "And please, be careful."

The woman nodded and quickly left the palace, flanked by half a dozen Aureals. She had a Prince to drive out.


	4. Get Used To It

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _There's no such thing as a coincidence._

* * *

Get Used To It

* * *

Lily Potter had known that her day was about to become hectic when Lord Mora had appeared to her, announcing the arrival of the Duchess of Mania and an escort of Aureals in the realm. It would be especially true if Lord Sheogorath's subjects were anything like the Prince.

"Welcome, Duchess… Aureals…" she called, as several figures shimmered into existence before her desk. "How may Apocrypha help you on this fine day?"

She'd clearly startled one of them, a blond woman cladded in bright blue robes who jumped quite visibly. Six guards were instantly glaring at the witch, their hands resting on the pommels of various weapons.

Faced with that unexpected threat, she proceeded to apologize for the accidental fright... or would have done so, if the Duchess hadn't chosen that exact moment to turn around and quite thoroughly blow her mind.

"Lily?!"

Now _that_ was a ghost she'd never expected to see.

* * *

Harry Potter was running toward the Quidditch pitch, eager to grab a broom and fly away from a certain bushy-haired friend who'd become increasingly clingy those last few days.

Scratch that, she wasn't just clingy, she was downright stalking him.

With her constant nagging and the sharp glances she threw at him every ten minutes, he had no doubt that Hermione had somehow figured out he was still keeping things from her. What he didn't know though, was how much she'd seen or pierced together.

Had she just caught on one of his lies? Had he let his guard down and allowed her to hear him converse with Mora, or catch a glimpse of Nirnian magic?

He honestly couldn't tell.

What was he to do about it? About her? Could he trust her with his secrets? With Hermaeus Mora, his mother, the Chamber and the altar? Could he tell her about Lady Nocturnal and Lord Sheogorath, Luna and Cedric? What about the Nirnian spells and wandless magic? And what of the daedric shroud he'd inherited from his father, the murderous wand carved out of a staff and the stone created by a being of pure nothingness?

How would she react, if he told her? What if he only told her parts of it? What if he told her everything?

A few other things he couldn't tell.

He needed time, enough time to take an educated decision that wouldn't utterly trash his relationship with his friend, or risk him facing trial for dealing with demonic forces.

What he also needed was a calm environment, someplace that would allow him to breath, something he just couldn't obtain anywhere in the castle. Staying in bed all day long was impossible and while the Chamber of Secret would have been quiet enough, the Seekers exploring every square centimeter of their master's new shrine were unnerving him by their silent floating presence.

Thus, Harry's only option was to hop on his Nimbus 2000 and take to the sky, where his bushy-haired friend and all those other things on his mind would never dare to go.

It was his domain, his safe haven.

As the wizard pitched up into a steep angle, he caught sight of a lone figure seating in the Quidditch's stands. The ever-increasing distance and casual clothing made it impossible to discern that person's identity. As the clouds swallowed him, obscuring his sight, Harry could only hope that he or she wouldn't reveal his location to Hermione.

* * *

When the Duchess of Mania and her six guards had left the Shivering Isles, they'd first set foot in Evergloam, realm of the Daedric Prince of Darkness. Misguided by Crow's Wood's feathery inhabitants, they had then spent several days wandering aimlessly, ultimately reaching the Shade Perilous in bloodied and tattered outfits.

It hadn't been humiliating enough though, as they'd also been stopped at the gate by one of Lady Nocturnal's devoted servant. Without even listening to their inquiry, the Nightingale had proceeded to explain in a patronizing tone that the Prince was simply too busy to receive them.

His attitude had annoyed the delegation so much that one of the Aureals had offered to manhandle the thief. Of course, the poor fool had chosen that exact moment to offhandedly mention that his mistress' precious time had already been wasted enough by Lord Sheogorath's usual nonsense, several days ago.

After that insult toward their Lord and the revelation that he was now long gone, the Golden Saint had insisted to gut the man and only their quick departure to Apocrypha had saved the Nightingale from her wrath.

Entering the realm of Forbidden Knowledge, they had discovered that their visit had been expected, as one of Lord Mora's Seekers was already waiting for them. The… thing, had also seemed to know the exact reason for their visit as it instantly floated away, making vague following motions with its thin arms, obviously expecting them to follow.

The dimension being what it was, a treacherous maze made out entirely of books bathing in an ocean of vitriol, the seven visitors had complied and hurried after their guide.

They were soon using even _more_ books as localized portals to jaunt from islands to islands, ultimately coming to a halt in a narrow corridor where the Seeker simply vanished into nothingness, leaving the Duchess and the Aureals before yet another book.

Was that it? Had they reached their destination? Would that pedestal take them to Lord Sheogorath? Surely, it couldn't be so easy… right?

Hesitantly, the Duchess approached the book and looked at the title, hoping to gain some insight on what to expect of the next island.

"Hogwarts: a history."

She blinked.

Her brain rebooted, hoping that this first read had been a fluke, a hallucination of sort provoked by the fumes rising from the sea.

Nope, same letters, in the exact same order, same colon too…

Hogwarts: a history.

"WHAT THE HECK?!"

"Milady?" called one of the guard, understandably startled by the sudden outburst. "Is something wrong?"

Oh yes, something was definitely wrong here, except that she couldn't really tell what or why as she herself felt entirely lost at the moment.

What was that book doing here? How was that possible? Had Lord Mora somehow found a way to reach that particular dimension? By himself?

No… no, it wasn't exactly impossible, but remained highly improbable.

Had Lord Sheogorath led his relative to the realm then? Was that the reason behind his recent excursions? Had he offered the same thing to Lady Nocturnal?

Figuring that it was probably the case, the Duchess felt a sudden urge to groan. One Prince aware of Earth was bad enough, but three, that was on another scale entirely. Lady Nocturnal, she could accept, but in her opinion, Lord Mora was a bit too… too… well, let's just say that while he wasn't exactly Lady Vaermina, she still would have preferred Lady Meridia or Lady Azura.

It wasn't like she could actually do anything about it though, Lord Sheogorath had obviously already played his cards.

Refraining a sigh, the Duchess steeled her composure and reassured her worried associates. Everything was fine, she had merely been surprised to stumble upon such a rare volume. Receiving respectful nods from the Aureals, she then proceeded to touch the cover and was instantly assaulted by the now familiar feeling of being engulfed in a conjuration portal. She disappeared from her previous position and was deposited at what was, according to the Seeker – and wasn't that name just nostalgic now? – her desired yet unknown destination.

Her vision was temporarily blurred and she was forced to blink, only taking in her new environment after a couple of seconds as her guardians slowly joined her.

The new room didn't look like much, with the same old floor and walls of books, covered in ink and pierced in a corner by a small pool of acid. A lot more intriguing was the large corridor that seemed to end on a wall of… were those scales? Of that size? What kind of creature had the Prince of Knowledge found this time? A dragon?

"Welcome, Duchess… Aureals…"

The woman's heart took a mad leap in her chest. She'd been so preoccupied with what was in front of her that she hadn't even studied the rest of the room, apparently missing its occupant.

"How may Apocrypha help you on this fine day?"

She turned around, about to apologize for her distraction… and came face to face with a ghost.

"Lily?!"

* * *

Cedric Diggory felt nauseated.

The young wizard had been unable to sleep for days now and while he would have usually been bed-ridden by his fatigue, the sheer amount of almost-physical fright forcefully driven through his brain by his recent discoveries was keeping him awake.

Hogwarts standing directly above a rift to other realms, students making deals with demon gods of darkness, madness and forbidden knowledge, being kidnapped and turned into a freaking badger… it was too much, especially with the mad deity's imposed deadline approaching.

Sadly for him and since Lovegood wasn't answering his questions anymore, Cedric was left to his own devices.

Struggling with his darkened thoughts, feeling disturbingly separated from his Housemates by those secrets he couldn't seem to share, the Hufflepuff had finally had enough and traveled to the Quidditch's pitch, hoping that a ride on his broom would finally relieved him of that building tension, if even partially.

The broom had barely shivered, the fifth year's inner turmoil wrecking his magical control.

The Hufflepuff proceeded to sulk, seating alone in the stands and contemplating the ruin his life had become. He stopped however, when he perceived a movement in the sky from the corner of his eye.

Glancing up revealed to the wizard the distinctive form of a well-known Gryffindor second-year on his equally identifiable broom, shooting up at high speed toward the clouds.

Cedric almost slapped himself.

Potter! He'd forgotten Potter! How had he managed to forget Potter?

The so-called Savior would have his answers. In fact, he had to. From what little he understood, the guy was neck-deep in this whole mess, even more so than Lovegood. If he didn't have his answers, nobody would… which would suck.

Followed his second kidnapper's ascent, the Hufflepuff felt a cold determination flood his system. His mind cleared and five seconds later, the fifth-year was airborne, closing in on the younger wizard.

* * *

Ever since her arrival in Apocrypha, eleven years prior, Lily Evans Potter had forgotten her previous life.

Well, not forgotten per say, but she'd distanced herself from it, convinced that she would never ever encounter anything or anyone from her home dimension again. There was just no point thinking about her past when she was rendered unable to interact with it by a sudden and quite serious case of death.

She'd been proven wrong though, when Lord Mora had started to interact with her son and acquire artifacts from him.

Over the last couple of years, she'd accessed Nicholas Flamel's Philosopher Stone, the fabled Mirror of Erised, a soul-shard coming from Tom Marvolo Riddle's journal and even a giant living Basilisk now nesting nearby.

Yet, all those things paled in comparison to her current visitor.

"Lily?!"

"Pandora?!"

Lily's brain was now running at five times its usual speed, trying to come to term with the incomprehensible presence of Pandora Lovegood in Apocrypha.

It was useless though, the familiar face simply brought too many memories to the forefront of the witch's mind for her to concentrate. Memories of Hogwarts, of homework and classes, of those times they'd sneaked out of the castle with Mary and Alice, of the countless bottles of butterbeer they had smuggled in, of all those moments of sadness and joy they'd shared.

Faced with that assault of emotions, accentuated by the fact that she hadn't experienced any physical contact with another human being in the last eleven years, Lily was seriously torn between hugging her long-lost friend and running away as fast as possible.

Pandora took the decision for her when, after shacking herself out of a similar state, she wrapped her arms around her friend's trembling frame.

"I missed you." whispered the blonde.

A second passed.

"I missed you too." replied the sobbing redhead.

* * *

Finally!

It was just him, the sky, some clouds, the wind and no human – or non-human – beings for miles. Even Mora's presence in his mind had lessen, the Prince being busy 'entertaining' his crazy brother.

Harry was finally able to relax, bath in the silence and the feeling of the wind passing through his hair.

How relaxing.

"Potter!"

A picture imposed itself in his head. The picture of a screaming Cedric Diggory falling in an inky portal, en route to Apocrypha to help Mora study the effects of repeated Basilisk gaze's exposure.

The wizard pushed away the unattainable dream and turned his broom toward the approaching fifth-year.

"Diggory." he adressed his impromptu visitor as the fifth year reached him.

"Tell me everything you know about those… Princes." commanded the Hufflepuff in lieu of greetings.

A cold mask instantly replaced Harry's previously neutral expression.

"And if I don't?"

"But… you have to… I need…" stammered Cedric, as his broom began to shake.

"I don't _have_ to do anything and I couldn't care less about what you _need_." hissed the Gryffindor. "I'm not in your House, Diggory, and even if I was, you still wouldn't have the power to order me around. I owe you nothing, stop pretending otherwise."

"I… I'm sorry, I just…"

"What? Weren't expecting me telling you to piss off?" pushed the younger wizard, slowly floating away. "Tough luck, I'm telling you anyway. Piss. Off!"

"NO!" shouted the distressed fifth-year, speeding after him. "You don't understand, I need to know. I need answers. Answers you have."

An eyebrow rose critically.

Was Diggory seriously expecting him to roll over and bark out everything the minute he was asked? Without any kind of compensation or really, any respect at all? Simply because of some deep – and most assuredly faked – need to understand?

What was he, a dog?

Harry was about to reiterate his previous answer when Diggory did the unthinkable.

"Please."

He begged.

Was he _that_ serious about it? Could he really, _actually_ need those answers?

"I… I'm losing my _freaking mind_ , Potter. I don't know what to do. Hell, I don't even know what to _think_ anymore. Please, I need your help." repeated the Hufflepuff, his voice wavering slightly. "I _really_ need your help."

Yep, it seemed that way.

"Lovegood won't answer my questions anymore and I can't tell anyone else because of the spell that crazy Sheogorath dude did and I have to give him my answer tomorrow but I don't know what to say because I don't want to get involved or to serve Nocturnal for all eternity but I can't let it all go unsupervised either because I'm a prefect and I must look after the students and I don't know how I can do that if I'm not involve even if I really don't want to what's with the O.W.L. approaching and –"

"Okay, stop it." interrupted the Gryffindor. "I get it, you're feeling lost – trust me, I can relate – but you need to calm down, now!"

The extended monologue had definitely convinced Harry that Cedric hadn't meant to be rude or overly pushy. His nerves had simply got the better of him.

It kinda reminded him of his own behavior, after Quirrell's re-death.

Now that he thought about it, the older student was actually having it harder than him… on some points, anyway. He hadn't rekilled anyone, or released a dangerous wraith into the wild, but he probably had his entire House hot on his heels, trying to understand why their prefect was acting so out of character.

Harry, for his part, only had Hermione after him… and with the amount of anxiety that put on him, he really didn't envy the other wizard. In fact, he would gladly kill Quirrell a third time to avoid that much attention.

"Breath, Diggory." he advised. "Your knuckles are turning white and your broom won't handle any more abuse. I'd rather you don't pummel to your death on me."

Surprisingly, the other student listened. His respiration evened, his muscles relaxed and his eyes lost the delirious look they'd gained midway through his tirade.

Harry nodded appreciatively.

"Good. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but you want to understand what sort of mess Lovegood put you into."

"Yes."

Two green eyes glinted avidly.

"What's in it for me?"

"What?!"

"You heard me, Diggory. I _could_ help you out of the goodness of my heart, but I won't, because life doesn't work that way. If you want something, you need to pay for it."

For a moment, Cedric looked scandalized… before he sighed and backed down.

"What do you want?"

He was that desperate, huh?

"Knowledge." came the answer. "I'll spare you the details, but I need to get better, as fast as possible. Teach me something I don't know and I'll give you your answers."

"Would spells work for you?"

"Not if they're part of the curriculum. I don't need you to open a book."

"Dueling practices then? I'm sure you could use a sparring partner."

"Better… but not sufficient yet. Anything else?"

"… I could show you the school's kitchen."

Harry marked a pause.

Discovering Hogwarts' kitchen wouldn't help him against Tommy-boy and his men, but it _would_ help him escape Hermione…

"Deal." he acknowledged hastily. "What do you want to know?"

"What can you tell me?"

Ha, the good old 'answer a question with another question' trick.

"I can tell you plenty. Now stop dodging and answer me."

"Fine." sighed the fifth-year. "Can I trust the Princes? Lovegood told me their names and their sphere of influence, but not if they could be trusted."

"That's a good question." approved the Gryffindor. "And yes, they can be trusted, as long as you're fair play with them. Be wary of Sheogorath though, he has… mood swings. Also, always double-check everything before making a deal. Mora, especially, loves to obey the letter of a contract above its spirit. I got screwed over once and had to spend days on something that would have taken hours if I had formulated it properly."

"What about Nocturnal?"

"Lady Nocturnal is… well, she'd usually described as an old-fashioned mother. Giving the cold shoulder to everyone, but being secretly supportive of her agents. Whoever works for her shouldn't expect a hug or a pat on the back, but they can be assured that they're never without assistance."

"… What do you make of her proposal?"

"Sheogorath's proposal, you mean? The Nightingale Pact? It's a double-edged sword, a 'doomed if you do, doomed if you don't.' scenario." commented the second-year. "I don't know how much you remember from your time as a badger, but Nocturnal – or really any other Prince – can't manifest on this plane of existence without an Anchor. If you refuse to become her Nightingale, you can return to your blissful unsuspecting life but she would be unable to cross the veil, leaving Hermaeus and Sheogorath as sole Princes with an access to Earth. Sheogorath through the madmen and madwomen around, and Hermaeus through –"

"You, and the shrine you built."

"Exact." confirmed Harry. "Now, from what I understand, Nocturnal is one of the only Prince able to tame Sheogorath's more murderous aspects. If your refuse, you keep your life, but the world can burn in seconds because of an angered Mad God."

"And what if I… accept?"

"Then Nocturnal can temper Sheogorath's mood, making it much… _much_ safer. On the downside, you're throwing your life away by linking your very being to Lady Nocturnal for all eternity."

"So, it's true?" asked the Hufflepuff, his face pale as snow. "What Sheogorath said, about the Nightingales being pawns?"

"In a sense, yes. Nocturnal uses them as guards for her realm and once you've accepted the Pact, you can say goodbye to Heaven or whatever version of the afterlife you believe in, because you'll be taking a one-way ticket to Evergloam." recognized Harry. "But Sheogorath being… well, Sheogorath, you can't take his words at face value either. You could ask him the same question fifty times in a row and he would give you fifty different answers."

"So what? He was lying?"

"Not lying per say, but he kept some things to himself, like the fact that those taking the Pact _choose_ to do so. Nocturnal was truthful on that regard, when she said that forcing someone to become a Nightingale would go against the very nature of the Pact. Her agents aren't coerced into anything, rather deciding by themselves to give up their afterlife for their goal."

"But… what kind of goal would require –" started the shocked wizard.

"The protection of their family."

That shut him up.

"Nightingales, in addition to being Nocturnal's agents, are also high-ranked figures from the Nirnian Thieves Guild. By taking the Pact, they gain the ability to look from the shadows after their organization and the future generations, even in undeath. You could say that they're the pinnacle of Hufflepuff mentality."

"… If you were in my place… if you had to choose… what would you do?"

"I _was_ in your place, Diggory. My mother may have created the link between Hermaeus and me, but _I_ chose to harvest the connection."

"And… you don't regret your decision?"

"No, I don't. My life got complicated, but I prefer that over being left in the dark."

Cedric mulled it over for a few seconds, ending his reflexions with a tired and resigned sigh.

"Thanks Potter… for being honest."

"A deal's a deal." smiled the younger wizard, before motionning toward the castle. "Now, care to show me those kitchens?"

* * *

Pandora Lovegood, Duchess of Mania, was floored.

Despite standing right before her, her friend Lily Potter was, to all intents and purposes, dead. To be more precise, she'd been dead for eleven years now, ever since that night of Halloween 1981 when she'd stricken a deal with Hermaeus Mora.

The Prince had collected Lily's spirit and claimed her son as a contractor, in exchange for his protection against Voldemort.

Learning that said black mage was still alive was quite worrisome, but less so than Young Harry actively working for Lord Mora in exchange for magical tutelage and knowledge.

What she didn't understand though, was Lord Sheogorath's exact involvement in this matter. What had prompted him to leave the Isles?

"According to your Lord, he felt the shrine my son built under Hogwarts." answered Lily.

"Harry did _WHAT_?"

"I'm not _that_ happy about it either." she sighed "I understand that he has to improve himself, but he shouldn't endanger the other students to do so. I tried to deter him, but..."

"He inherited James' stubbornness." smirked Pandora.

"Pretty much." lamented her friend. "Anyway, care to explain how you ended up working for Sheogorath? Last I heard of you, you and Xeno had gotten married and just had a daughter."

"Accidental summoning." explained the blonde with a pained expression. "I messed up a spell and ripped the veil apart. The Isles started to overlap with my study and Luna – that's my daughter – got caught in the magical backlash. Her body went into overdrive and just… shut down. If it hadn't been for Lord Sheogorath showing up and dealing with the excess daedric energy, I would have… lost… her."

She had practically killed her own daughter!

She knew that, of course, but saying it aloud to someone she considered a friend really drove the point home.

Seeing her friend's sudden distress, Lily hugged her once more. Just in time too, as the other woman started to cry on her shoulder. A few minutes passed, only disturbed by the occasional weep. At last, Pandora regained her composure.

"Thanks Lils." she smiled, tracks of tears marking her cheeks. "I… needed that."

The blonde witch wiped her puffy eyes with the back of her hand and continued her explanations.

"So, excess daedric energy." she repeated in a more controlled voice. "It had to go somewhere and I wasn't about to release it around the realm after seeing what it was doing to Luna. Lord Sheogorath would have absorbed it himself, but time was of the essence and blood-related magical transfers have always been faster, so I offered to take it all. Let me tell you, it _hurt_."

"I got a tentacle to the gut when I came here, I can relate." reminded Lily.

They winced in unison.

"Anyway, Luna recovered and I ceased to be a full-fledged human to become a part-daedric… entity, I guess." admitted Pandora. "Remaining on Earth in that state would have simply been too risky and I had to exile myself to the Isles. I joined the court of Mania as a magical researcher and ultimately became the new Duchess a year ago, when Lord Sheogorath recreated the position. He missed it, apparently."

" _I_ _truly_ _didn't."_ jovially corrected the Prince, materializing on Lily's desk.

"My Lord." exclaimed Pandora as the five Aureals knelt, their heads bowed in reverence.

" _Haskill was exhausting himself_ _though, de_ _aling with the entire realm without the support of the courts._ _"_ continued the Mad God. _"_ _Truly, Thadon's poisoning was a tragedy._ _I probably should have skinned him instead, would have spared us the trouble._ _"_

"Lord Sheogorath." politely greeted Lily. "To what do Apocrypha owe the pleasure of your visit?"

" _I'm not here for Apocrypha,_ _my_ _dear_ _Lady Potter_ _, I'm here for you."_ he stated to the witch. _"_ _I heard that Herm tasked you with looking into the_ _Peverell bloodline_ _."_

Pandora's brain froze for a split second.

No, Lord Sheogorath certainly wasn't talking about _those_ Peverell. There was just no way that the three brothers had anything to do with Oblivion and the Daedric Princes, right? Hermaeus Mora couldn't possibly look for the Deathly Hallows… right?!

"He did." confirmed her friend, indicating a pile of books stacked in a corner. "I had a dozen Seekers collect every related tomes we have. Hopefully, uncovering their family's history will help Harry locate the stone and the wand without alerting your… relatives."

Oh Merlin, they _were_ talking about those Peverell. What kind of mess had her friend's son got himself into?

" _Yes…_ _hopefully."_ trailed Sheogorath, a faraway look in his slitted eyes. _"Anyway, I brought a gift."_

A small package, wrapped in an orange material and held together by a bright purple bow, was produced from… somewhere.

" _Go on now, open it."_ invited the impatient daedra. _"It doesn't bite… much."_

The redhead glanced her way, silently asking her if the bundle was truly safe. Sadly for her, Pandora had no other answer than a shrug, as nothing was truly safe when her Lord was involved.

Sighing, Lily proceeded to tear the gift wrap apart, looking quite stiff when doing so. Judging from her face, Pandora could only imagine that her friend would have rather asked a Seeker to do it in her stead, only abstaining not to offend the Mad God.

Discovering the cover of the book she'd just been offered, Lily gasped quite loudly.

" _Cheydinhal City's births records!"_ exclaimed the Prince. _"Aha, weren't expecting that, were you?"_

"No, I wasn't." confirmed her smiling friend. "Thank you, Lord Sheogorath."

" _Don't mention it, dear."_ he replied, waving his hand. _"_ _I g_ _rabbed_ _t_ _hat_ _old_ _thing when I_ _emptied_ _Andel Indarys' quarters_ _and mispl_ _aced it in my old bag… sort of_ _._ _It_ _has been collecting dust for_ _a few_ _centuries. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to and must be on my may. Herm_ _is assuredly_ _idling_ _around and I always found it quite satisfying to kick his lazy tentacles."_

Ending his conversation with Lily, her Prince turned his gaze to her and smiled.

" _Duchess, you may inform Haskill that I'll return to the Isles by Turdas… probably. And next time,_ _kindly_ _remind him that he can_ _just_ _call me. Lettuce, soul gem, yarn, storm, the usual, really. Can't guarantee that I'll answer though, I hate telemarketers. Anyway, t_ _ _oodles!__ _"_

And suddenly, he was gone, his silhouette fading away like mist.

The Golden Saints wasted no time rising from their position.

"May we return to New Sheot now, Milady?" asked one of the daedra, clearly impatient to leave the poisonous atmosphere of Apocrypha and report their Lord's whereabouts to the chamberlain.

"You may go, but I shall remain here." rectified Pandora. "Lady Potter and I need to talk."

The Aureal wisely chose to obey, a decision helped by the heated look thrown her way by the blonde witch.

"As you command, Duchess."

The guards bowed and left the realm, en route to the Isles.

Finally alone, Lily returned to her chair, motioning for her friend to take the one waiting on the other side of her desk. Pandora obliged and wasted no time with social niceties. She had way too many questions and the two friends were way past that anyway.

"So, what's the deal with the Hallows?"

Their discussion was _far_ from over.

* * *

Hermione Granger looked into yet another desolated classroom, searching for a certain runaway wizard.

Finding nothing, she humphed and walked up to the next door.

In her opinion, something was seriously wrong with Harry. She didn't care if Ron claimed the contrary, she was sure that her… huh, their friend had a problem and she would do everything in her power to solve it.

The morning rant against Quidditch, everything had started then. Ever since that day, he'd avoided them and lied repeatedly, including when he'd claimed to feel 'better'. She'd also caught him whispering to himself a couple of times and taking notes in a language she'd never seen before.

In the end, it had got so worrying that she'd resolved to hunt him down throughout the entire castle. She would get him to talk, even if she had to hex him for it.

Now, if only she could locate him…

The frustrated witch slammed another door and progressed further down the passageway.

* * *

"Is your friend always that scary?" asked Cedric, leaning toward the nearby hallway, discreetly looking an angry witch slam doors after doors.

"She can be." confirmed Harry, biting in a recently acquired slice of pie. "Now let's get out of here before she sees us."

"You can't avoid her forever, you know that?"

"I'll managed for a few more days." shrugged the younger Gryffindor.

The Hufflepuff shook his head but abstained from commenting, unwilling to get himself involved in Potter's business any deeper that he had to. The Nightingale situation was more than enough responsibility already, thank you very much.

The two wizards turned on their heels and disappeared up a staircase, leaving the bushy-haired witch to what was sure to be a fruitless investigation.


	5. Deadline

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _Wake up, child._

* * *

Deadline

* * *

"Happy birthday!"

At the tender age of twelve, Harry James Potter, wizard and sole contractor to Hermaeus Mora on the Earthen realm, had already faced his share of hazardous and unspeakable horrors.

He'd come face to face with a giant Cerberus, a Troll, a teacher turned Lich by the possession of a sorcerer's malevolent spirit, a century-old Basilisk, Seekers – the daedric ones, not his Quidditch adversaries – and three different Princes.

Yet never before had he witnessed a glare as intense as the one Hermione was directing at him, manifestly trying to bore a hole through his skull with her sight only.

"Happy birthday?" he tried again, concerned by the lack of reaction.

Had the witch not heard him the first time around? He was pretty sure that he'd spoken loud enough in the mostly deserted Great Hall. Plus, she couldn't possibly _not see_ the package he'd just placed on the table.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" asked Hermione with a scowl, stubbornly not opening her gift.

Harry – and most of his neighbors, if he was to trust the various whispers coming from his Housemates – had to wonder if, perhaps, she wouldn't be the tiniest bit upset.

"It was wrapped in haste." he confessed in a shrug.

Truth be told, the gift itself had been retrieved in haste. He hadn't forgotten per say, but had had more pressing matters. The consumption of a few hundred points had been more than enough involvement on his part and assured a portal-delivery in record time.

"Wrapped? WRAPPED?" abruptly shouted the witch, her eyes widening and her face turning an unhealthy shade of red. "Do you seriously think that I care about a damn parcel? You've been avoiding me for days, Harry. DAYS!"

Oh, so that's what it was all about.

Okay, how was he supposed to explain that the fate of the entire realm rested on him not wasting any time on social activities?

"Listen –"

"No, _you_ listen!" she hissed. "We're friends. We established that last year, right? So tell me, how is it that I can't seem to catch more than _glimpses_ of you outside of classes? How is it that you're not even showing up at meals anymore? How is it that you're supposedly _'fine'_ when it's clear that you're not? Tell me, Harry, how is it that we're still friends when you act _nothing_ like one?"

Under other circumstances, Harry would have tried to act diplomatically. He would have apologized, explained to his friend how his summer had been particularly trying and taken a toll on him, from which he'd still not recovered.

He did none of that.

"Has it occurred to you that, perhaps, I wasn't actually _trying_ to avoid you?" he snapped. "That I could simply be too busy to lollygag?"

Okay, so he was a bit of a hypocrite here, seeing as he _had_ actively avoided her. He wasn't lying about being occupied though.

"Being my friend doesn't make you my mother, Hermione." he snarled. "Nor does it give you any right over my schedule or my privacy. If I have to deal with personal matters, I'd like them to remain _personal_. If I want to take my meals in the kitchens instead of the Hall, that's _my_ problem. Same goes for my feelings. I could be having the worst day of my life, if I don't want to talk about it, I'd just tell you that I'm fine BECAUSE IT WOULDN'T BE ANY OF YOUR BLOODY CONCERN _._ "

At that point, the Great Hall was caught in an eerie silence, the attention of every single student and professor fixated on the two Gryffindors. Granted, it was Saturday and early enough for that number not to rank in the triple digit yet, but still…

Harry felt his heart constrict at the unshed tears threatening to spill from Hermione's eyes, almost weeping himself at the view of her quivering frame and clenched fists. This entire daedric business was really messing with his life.

"Can you just… open your gift?" he asked softly, trying to salvage what little remained of their friendship. "Please?"

The shaken witch glanced at the package for an agonizing minute, before reaching for it and tearing the wrapping paper apart. Opening the previously concealed leather-bound journal, she discovered pages upon pages of practical notes in a quite familiar handwriting.

Hermione took a sharp intake of breath.

"Harry… is… is that…?"

A shrewd and devious plan to aid his friend better her understanding of magic when he himself couldn't take the time to assist her lest the world would fall to ruin?

Why, yes!

"A few magical theories I came up with." he lied through his teeth, projecting a strained smile. "Nothing conclusive yet, but I'm working on it."

He really wasn't, but she didn't need to know that. All that should matter to her was his _personal_ notebook and the truth behind wandless magic hidden within.

It may seem strange to challenge a friend with a puzzle, but he had little doubt that she would manage it. Even if he _had_ explained the trick to her, she would have insisted to study his source material anyway.

Plus, as long as she was mulling over the book – a forgery written by one of Hermaeus' Seekers – she wouldn't have the time to hunt him down. The gift itself was basically an alibi, explaining his recent disappearing acts and distracting his friend at the same time.

" _Brilliantly executed plan, mortal."_ whispered Hermaeus Mora.

Harry ignored the entity.

"Thank you." beamed Hermione, a bright smile splitting her face in two.

"You're welcome." he answered, his insides curling once more.

Damn guilt.

* * *

The shocked Hall slowly returned to life, students and professors alike excitedly discussing what they'd just witnessed.

An actual dispute between Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. One which had escalated enough for the two second years to yell at each other. And that sudden reconciliation… unbelievable.

But whereas most of the witches and wizards looked at the Gryffindor duo with appreciation for their seemingly invulnerable friendship, one student felt and entirely different emotion: awe.

"Are you okay Cedric?" asked his neighbor and fellow Hufflepuff Maxine O'Flaherty, looking quite concerned.

The fifth year refrained a sigh at the girl's absurd question. What sort of answer was she expecting? The truth?

'It's nothing Maxine, I'm just amazed by the ease Potter seems to possess when it comes to lying, be it to his friend or the school as a whole. Must come from his connection to a Demon Lord.'

Yeah, definitely not.

" _Should you really judge Hermaeus' contractor?"_ softly asked Nocturnal through their mental bond. _"You yourself are lying to them, Nightingale."_

"Yes… I am." he confirmed, a sad smile on his face.

"If you're sure." shrugged the oblivious girl, believing his words to be directed at her.

Cedric glanced once more at the younger Gryffindor, silently hoping that his task – and incidentally, Potter's – would be over soon.

He would assuredly be a lot less stressed without a pandimensional demonic threat hanging above his reality.

* * *

The many house elves working around Hogwarts' kitchens were only ever bursting with activity for two reasons.

One, they were about to start service and meals had to be prepared for the hundreds upon hundreds of people occupying the castle. Or two, a student or teacher was visiting for a snack, instantly gathering the attention of the entire cooking staff.

The second could be rather dangerous, as not only were the small beings the exact definition of "overwhelming", the unusual excitement spreading among them was growing tenfold with each new visitor.

As such, when Cedric Diggory discovered the hidden facility already occupied by a certain second year Gryffindor, he couldn't contain a weary sigh.

So much for a tranquil breakfast.

"Potter." greeted the fifth year, seating down and thanking the numerous elves for the whole cake they'd just provided.

"Diggory." replied the other wizard, not even raising his head from his book.

Cedric didn't even dare ask for the title, the entire volume reeked of daedric magic.

"You look like shit." he commented, politely refusing cups of tea, coffee and a dozen other beverages.

"And you a jerk. Now, how about you shut up?" swore the younger wizard through clenched teeth, angrily turning a page.

"Hey, it was just an observation." argued Cedric, grabbing a slice of pie from one of the many which had appeared on the table. "No need to be so aggressive."

"Keep your observations to yourself, Diggory. I'm not in the mood for an insult competition right now."

"Tough night?"

"What do you think?" he hissed, finally looking at his visitor, his tired traits rendering the answer that much more sarcastic.

It was the morning of September 22th, 1992, and one Harry Potter was a living dead. Not in the strict and ominous sense of the word that is, but his bloodshot eyes, pale skin and exhausted mind made him appear more closely related to the deads than the livings. On a side note, his mother was a ghost… make of that what you will.

Cedric had to recognize that the Gryffindor's current state appeared quite alarming.

It was rather strange, really, that no one had commented on it, but he supposed that after that intense breakfast argument three days prior, the students and professors had simply decided to see it as a result of his heavily altered sleeping schedule. They had to believe that the eager wizard was merely pursuing his studies and researches – something that numerous Ravenclaws did regularly – and would be fine with a potion or two. Clearly, there was nothing to worry about.

Except that unlike the others, he knew the real reason behind Harry's state, and it was _extremely_ worrisome, in that it could quite literally change the life of the entire school, if not the entire planet.

The Elder Wand had been located, Lily Potter recognizing the focus as Albus Dumbledore's, thanks to an accurate description offered by the Duchess of Mania – one Pandora Lovegood, Luna's mother. Those surprises just kept on piling up.

With the Chamber's altar rapidly flooding the school with more and more daedric energies, the wand was undoubtedly a major hazard. The risk of an invading demonic force gushing out of the Deadlands, Dagon's realm of Oblivion, was skyrocking and needed to be addressed properly. Harry needed to retrieve the Elder Wand, replace it with a copy to avoid the Headmaster's suspicion, and banish the Artifact to Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora would then send it on its way to Mundus, Mehrunes Dagon being left none the wiser as to the existence of another mortal realm.

At least, such had been the initial plan. Things had taken an unexpected turn shortly after Cedric's Pact, when the Prince of Knowledge had vehemently forbidden his contractor from employing his sister's design.

" _Movin_ _g the wand to my realm would be the equivalent of_ _a_ _'free invasion'_ _invitation_ _card_ _addressed_ _to Mehrunes, and I won't risk it."_ he had claimed, glaring at Nocturnal. – " _Especially not with Sheogorath so_ _wishful to_ _fight, regardless of the property damages they would assuredly_ _cause_ _. I won't stand to see Apocrypha_ _ransack_ _ed by uneducated children!_ "

" _How would you solve_ _the_ _issue then?"_ had inquired the Prince of Shadows.

Naturally, the eldritch entity's solution was to have Harry disrupt the thin connection still existing between the wand and its creator, hopefully forever preventing Dagon from finding this dimension but also potentially annihilating the Artifact entirely in a massive and more than deadly explosion of daedric magic. As the Gryffindor had already accepted the task before, his opinion on this perilous change of plan was soundly ignored.

"You're right, sorry." apologized the Hufflepuff, grabbing a glass of pumpkin juice the size of a small wine barrel. "How's it going with the Cloak?"

"It's slow progress." admitted Harry, returning to his reading. "I can manage the first steps just fine, but the others ask for a bigger energy input. It's kind of a drag, but I'm getting there."

What a surprise it had been, when the Lady Luck had unceremoniously returned the Cloak of Shadows to him. The young wizard had been startled to muteness for the rest of the meeting. Not by the gift itself, nor by the fact that its original abilities had been restored, but rather at the revelation that the Artifact no longer belonged to Nocturnal.

Because the Cloak had remained a Peverell/Potter heirloom for over a thousand year – and despite its origins being long forgotten – the deity had decided to grant it to the young boy as a boon of sort.

Harry James Potter, twelve years old, owned a Daedric Artifact.

As thrilling and alarming at it sounded, that gift – and the task coming with it – had been forcing the wizard to study daedric energies intensively for the past six days, leading to the previously mentioned erratic sleeping schedule.

How could Harry be expected to sleep properly when his brain was struggling to understand the intricacy of daedric runic patterns? How could he rest when his entire body was burning from extreme magical exhaustion after forcefully activating the Cloak again and again and again, each rank of its abilities demanding more power?

And yet, here he was, reading an obscure tome a few tentacles short of being a Black Book despite his fatigue.

Cedric was pretty sure that he'd prefer bleeding his hands on an altar than dabble in Artifact theory. Less theoretical magic and an awful lot less risks of lethal backlash.

"What about you?" inquired the Gryffindor. "Any progress?"

"Some." nodded the older wizard, swallowing his seventh piece of bacon. "I'm looking into the counter-spells to the wards I found around the place and Lovegood suggested a way in."

"Any cheese involved?" half-joked Harry.

"No, I just have to, and I quote, 'stop thinking like a bird and start thinking like a badger.'" he grinned, giving his plate – still full, he didn't want to die from gluttony – to one of the most zealous elf. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go. See you around, Potter."

The younger wizard waved absentmindedly.

Cedric exited the kitchens and headed toward his common room. He needed to have a word with his Head of House.

* * *

Harry's detection wards – thanks mom – had barely flared that, already, the wizard had his wand in hand and a petrification spell on the tip of his tongue.

The shadowy shape of a small nightingale bouncing on his bedpost caused him to curse in Daedric.

Yes, the wand had to be dealt with rapidly and yes, Diggory had warned that he would contact him when he would have properly organized their larceny, but would it seriously have killed the Hufflepuff to let him enjoy the first actual night of restful sleep he had in two weeks?

" _It resembles_ _a mix between conjuration magic and the patronus charm…_ _what a remarkable feat._ _"_ suddenly commented Hermaeus, sounding quite excited at the prospect of cross-magic spells and not caring one bit about his contractor's mood. _"You shall question Diggory_ _about_ _this but for now, stop complaining and get moving, mortal."_

Burying his complaints, Harry rose from his bed and grabbed his cloak, letting himself get swallowed by the shadows as the unreal bird silently vanished in a wisp of smoke.

* * *

Contrarily to many of his colleagues, Professor Filius Flitwick had always enjoyed the imposed late-night patrols.

Catching flirting teenagers red-handed may not be that fulfilling of an experience, but the vertically-challenged professor had always found the castle more inviting at night, in the stony silence… his goblin roots showing.

Of course, some curfew breakers were sometimes gallivanting around with more dangerous schemes in mind than a quick recreation in a broom closet. For instance, Bathsheda had caught a member of her old house brewing an illegal potion in some toilet not three days ago. According to her, the castle could have lost an entire aisle at the smallest of mistake.

But overall and despite those kinds of life-threatening hazards occurring with an alarming regularity, those patrols were rather relaxing. Plus, with the quite capable Mister Diggory from Hufflepuff and the charming – no pun intended – Miss Clearwater assisting him as Hogwarts' prefects, the Head of Ravenclaw wasn't all that worried about that particular patrol.

The diminutive teacher had just passed yet another empty classroom when his honed duelist skills yelled at him, causing him to send an instinctive stunning-burst spell. The crimson-glowing magic wave spread around him in a perfect circle, illuminating the entire hallway and revealing… nothing.

Impossible, he _had_ felt something and his senses had never betrayed him before.

" _Specialis_ _Revel_ _io_." he cast, frowning at the distinct lack of result.

That eliminated the Disillusionment Charm and most invisibility cloaks.

" _Homenum Revel_ _i_ _o._ "

And _that_ eliminated young Harry's cloak, as well as a good number of stealth spells.

Determined to catch the concealed presence, the half-goblin began to speak in a guttural language. Several goblins wards rose at once, reaching for the ceiling and walls, thirsting for even the tiniest drop of magic around…. and found nothing.

Filius froze in utter stupor for several seconds, until his lungs reminded him that they needed an intake of oxygen from time to time. The tiny professor instantly shook himself out of his daze, massaging his brow with a clawed hand.

"I'm getting paranoid." finally whispered the wizard, as he resumed his patrol.

And maybe he was, but why then did he feel the need to award House Points for a brilliantly executed performance?

* * *

One month ago to the day, Cedric had jumped ten feet at seeing Potter appear out of thin air. Now it didn't even phase the Nightingale when Mora's envoy faded into view.

The wizard's irate expression was rather worrying though.

"Something wrong Potter?" he asked as politely as possible.

The Gryffindor's reply came out as infuriated hisses.

"You never said anything about Professor Flitwick patrolling with you!"

So, Potter had ran into the Charm Master. Why was he acting so surprised though? He'd broken more than his fair share of curfew, he had to know that the patrols were always conducted by a professor and two random prefects.

Was something wrong with the Head of Ravenclaw then? Had Potter a problem with the half-goblin?

"I didn't think it would matter." admitted Cedric. "You had your cloak, so even if you were to see him, he wouldn't be able to see you."

"You didn't think?" repeated the incredulous wizard, before adopting a low and threatening tone. "I was _invisible_ , _silence_ _d_ , not emitting any _smell, heat_ or _magic_ , and he _still_ managed to sense me."

"You're kidding?!" exclaimed the startled Hufflepuff.

Potter recoiled briefly at the outburst, anger briefly receding as he proceeded that the Hufflepuff truly didn't know about their teacher's proficiency. Retrieving some amount of calm, he answered with a shake of his head.

"He probably sensed the air currents or something. Started to cast out of the blue when I sneaked past him. Some kind of stunning wave, if the color was any indication."

"What did you do then?" he asked.

Clearly he'd dodged it, as the Charm teacher hadn't caught him, but Cedric still expected the younger wizard to have managed to worsen the situation before making his exit.

"Well, I would have thrown myself to the ground, but given his size, the spell would have caught me anyway." he explained. "So I jumped above it."

Unconventional method.

Aerial maneuvers were strongly advised against for a reason, airborne targets losing any ability to dodge, but he could see how it had been the only solution in this specific instance.

"You didn't land on him, did you?" asked Cedric, fearing a confirmation.

"What do you take me for?" spatted Potter with renewed vigor. "I moved behind him, grabbed my wand and prepared a Lightning Bolt, just in case. All for naught though, he just stood there and cast detections spells around. Broad spectrum ones at first, then more specific ones, including some that Hermaeus didn't know."

Rather surprising, since the Prince of Knowledge had the memories of Lily Potter as his disposal, a woman who'd been acclaimed by many as a Charm prodigy.

Not totally unexpected though, a prodigy had nothing on a master.

"Anyway, his wards failed, Flitwick muttered something about becoming paranoid and returned to his patrol." concluded the second year. "I waited until he passed the corner and got the hell away."

"Wise decision." whispered the fifth year, as he committed the entire tale to memory.

Honestly, Cedric didn't know what to think about the cheerful Charm master anymore. The guy had managed to sense Potter underneath a _freaking Daedric Cloak_ , for Merlin's sake _._

He would have to look into the tiny teacher's history.

"Sorry about that." he apologized. "Had I known, I would have warned you… or chosen another night."

"Don't worry about it, I just _love_ getting shot at after being dragged out of bed at one thirty in the morning to perform a potentially mortal felony." sardonically replied Potter. "Now get moving before he shows up or I change my mind and go enjoy some quality time with my pillow."

With a heavy sigh, The Nightingale walked to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office and whispered the password – bound to change the very next day – causing the statue to spin on its axis. With a flicker of his wand toward the revealed flight of stairs, he disabled the last outer defense, some low-level ward alerting the Headmaster to the presence of a visitor in the staircase. All the enchantments and charms monitoring the gargoyle itself had already been disabled prior to Harry's arrival.

Truly, the novice thief found it sad that an average fifth year could enter uninvited with just a few days of preparation. Albus Dumbledore was either a fool or extremely confident in his own abilities… which, according to Lady Nocturnal, would make him a fool.

"Follow me and Don't. Touch. Anything." instructed Cedric, starting his ascension as he bypassed, froze or simply erased wards left, right and center.

A few moments later, the two daedric contractors had made their way into the main office, ensuring their anonymity with a _petrificus totalus_ directed at the sleeping paintings of former Headmasters. A few mumbled counter-curses followed, dissipating the low-level protections put on the door leading to the chamber.

"The rest is above my level of expertise." admitted the Nightingale, lowering his wand.

Behind the now open door shined half a dozen entangled wards, stubbornly blocking the path.

"Good luck." he added. "Try not to explode if you can."

"I won't give you the satisfaction." scowled Potter, vanishing under the Cloak of Shadow as he walked toward the chamber.

Cedric had to blink at that response.

He may not have met him before that fiasco with Lovegood, but he'd seen the Gryffindor in passing from time to time and he'd seemed a lot less… caustic. Had his interactions with Hermaeus Mora changed the kid that much, or was it just the lack of sleep talking?

Startled out of his musing by two popping sounds in close proximity some four to five minutes later, the fifth year felt himself relax. With his job officially completed, he started to recast every single defense he'd just destroyed, slowly making his way out of the office.

With his magic now mirroring Nocturnal's shadowy facet, his spells would slowly adapt themselves to the Headmaster's residual energy, mimicking his own signature and rendering the entire thing untraceable.

Two minutes later, the ever-trustful Hufflepuff prefect was joining his Ravenclaw counterpart and confidently denying to her Head of House ever encountering any unusual situation during his patrol.

* * *

It was supposed to be the heist of the century.

Except that while Diggory had managed to get himself assigned to prefect duty, he'd _forgotten_ to mention Flitwick's presence, meaning that the way hadn't been cleared at all.

If the Nightingale hadn't studied the office's ward scheme last Saturday – Dumbledore had been at some ICW meeting in Geneva – and successfully dispelling most of the defenses, Harry would have hexed him.

That is, if he hadn't been saving his magical power for the wand.

Powering the Cloak with enough daedric magic to bypass the remaining wards was dreadfully exhausting, the damn Artifact working in stages – starting with invisibility, then silencing his actions, nullifying his smell, hiding his body heat and ultimately, containing his magic – but it had allowed Harry entrance to the Headmaster's chamber.

Sadly, he couldn't rely on it anymore with the wand being so close, meaning that to deal with Mehrunes' creation, he would have to use Wizardry and Nirnian magics only. Wasting any of them on Diggory just wouldn't be worth it.

Stealthily approaching the Headmaster's bed table, Harry made to retrieve the Elder Wand –

" _Screeeech!"_

– when the sudden appearance of a blazing bird caused him to jump back.

"Fawkes." he cursed softly, remembering his mom mentioning the immortal phoenix.

He'd clearly just dodged a bullet, seeing as the Headmaster was still sound asleep – was he under sleeping draught or something? – but how was he supposed to deal with that unexpected development?

" _That creature is on the same level of existence as a Lurker_ _or_ _Dremora."_ Hermaeus informed him. _"It should be intelligent enough to listen to reason."_

Great, he was about to discuss with a bird… he blamed Diggory.

The thing was now perched on the bed table, pointing an extremely heated look at the trespasser, flames licking its body as it protected the Artifact.

Moving as slowly as possible, the wizard put his hands in the air, trying to appease the creature. The glare didn't diminish, but the flames shrank back ever so slightly.

"I'm not here to hurt your master." reassured Harry by way of introduction. "I just want to help him."

Fawkes chirped questioningly, tilting his head to the side.

"Do you know the history of that wand he uses?" inquired the daedric contractor.

A sad peep.

"Do you know who it truly belongs to?"

The phoenix seemed taken aback by the question, his inquisitive gaze shifting to the Artifact underneath his talons.

"Have you ever looked into the depths?" pressed Harry. "Have you ever tried to feel its real power?"

The bird shook his head.

"Do it."

Fawkes marked a pause, strangely looking up as if his acceptance or refusal depended on an answer somehow etched into the ceiling.

The wizard watched, fascinated, as the light creature finally closed his eyes in concentration, his flames suddenly shifting around like a living organism, running down the phoenix's plumage and wrapping the wand in a burning cocoon. They'd barely made contact that, already, the frightened creature screeched and took flight, moving away from the cursed focus.

Harry waited for his discussion partner to relocate on the back of a chair before pointing at the vile relic.

"What you just felt was the true power behind the Elder Wand, yet nothing more than a sliver of its master's full might." he announced calmly. "He answers to the name of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Lord of Destruction and Revolution."

Simply speaking the name out loud caused the wand to react, making it exude a brief and faint aura of daedric magic.

Fawkes looked sick.

"Unless something is done –" pushed Harry, ignoring the phenomenon. "– that abomination will start to behave as a beacon and draw its creator to our world. Do you understand now, why I need to destroy it?"

The mystical beast reluctantly chirped and bobbed his head, before moving his wing around as if to say 'Carry on.'

"Thank you." smiled the wizard.

With extreme caution, he retrieved the Artifact, keeping his daedric magic under lock and key. It wouldn't do to warn Dagon by accident.

Fixing his gaze on the wand, he slowly rolled it around, examining every inch of it. Finally, after three complete turns, the Prince of Knowledge whispered in his mind.

" _It is done."_

"Dobby." called Harry, causing said elf to appear with a pop, holding a copy of the Elder Wand.

It had been crafted mere seconds ago by the daedra, using purely Hogwart-style magic as to not pollute the new focus. Lily's knowledge on wandcraft had help greatly, as had Harry's wand and extremely recent scrutiny of the Artifact.

The counterfeit had then been delivered to the Chamber of Secret – despite being its Prince, Mora didn't want to tempt fate by opening highly magical dimensional portals around the original wand. – where Dobby had been waiting.

While he wasn't actually able to enter the Headmaster's bedroom by himself, nothing prevented him from answering his master's call.

"Here is Master Hermaeus Mora's wand for Master Harry Potter Sir." enthusiastic said the elf, handing the facsimile to the wizard.

Thanking him, Harry quickly put the thing down on the bed table before meeting Fawkes' questioning eyes.

"A replacement… without the corrupting core, obviously." he explained, receiving an understanding nod from the bird. "Now, you'll excuse us, I have to blow this thing up without killing myself in the process."

Sending a saddened look at his visitor, the phoenix thrilled softly. The wizard relaxed quite visibly at the appeasing melody.

"I needed that." he whispered, a smiling slightly. "Let's get this over with. Dobby, get us to some deserted place."

Fawkes sighed deeply when, as elf and wizard vanished from the chamber in a loud pop, a certain Albus Dumbledore muttered incoherently in his sleep, only marginally disturbed by their departure.

His wizard was getting old.

* * *

There were many deserted places in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Empty classrooms and forgotten quarters, dusty corridors leading to nothing by dead-ends and forbidden laboratories… but at this exact moment, none was more devoid of life than the barren astronomy tower.

Any other day of the week, Dobby's arrival would have startled thirty-five to forty yawning students in the middle of their stargazing – his master's even more so, as he'd just been sent head first into an abandoned telescope – but the thick blanket of dark and angry clouds obstructing the night sky had prompted Professor Aurora Sinistra to postpone her class, leaving no witness to report Harry's embarrassment… or the string of daedric profanities he emitted as he kicked the brass instrument.

"Master Harry Potter Sir shouldn't curse." admonished the house elf, pointing a finger. "Mistress Lily Potter won't be happy."

"I'll think about it." drily replied the wizard. "Thank you for your help, Dobby. You may go."

A brief bow, a snap of fingers, a pulse of magic and Harry was left atop the empty tower. Now he only had to deal with the most tainted and destructive wand in the entire realm, preferably without dying horribly in the process.

He had to give it to Dobby though, the Astronomy tower was a perfect choice. Completely desolated, high enough not to risk an interaction with the altar's rising energies and given that he was about to release the daedric taint contained within the Artifact, a lot safer than the Gryffindor common room or the Quidditch pitch. It just wouldn't do to blow his dorm up or expose the Houses teams to the very essence of competition and ambition – as Gryffindor's Seeker, he didn't fancy seeing the games turn into slaughters any more than they already were.

Gathering his magic, the young wizard raised his hand and conjured what looked like a glowing aggregation of misshaped greenish polygons. Releasing his grasp on the spell, he let the concentrated energies wash over him, coating his entire body in a thin protective layer. It was a rudimentary Oakflesh, the first mage armor taught to practitioners of the school of Alteration.

Still, better than nothing shall the damn thing decide to explode. The spell would be able to absorb a portion of the damage and Mora would prevent his brain from frying.

"Let's get to it then."

Loosely holding the Elder Wand with the tip of his fingers, Harry began to move his free hand over the focus, feeding it a constant flow of Wizardry magic. Though the core itself remained unsurprisingly unresponsive, the injected energy revealed an intricate patter of interwoven enchantments permeating the focus from top to bottom.

As he forced them open with Nirnian magic – in the hope of depriving the Artifact from its power source – a strained growl began to rise from the wizard's throat.

Splitting his attention and magic like this was ridiculously hard, especially since he also had to restrain its daedric component. At this rate, he would be drained in a minute or two and the wand wouldn't even be close to…

The link between Artifact and Prince snapped in a burst of energies, breaking what little control Harry had over his inner daedric magic and letting it run rampant. The resulting clash between the Deadlands and Aprocrypha created a massive shockwave, violently throwing the wizard against the tower's parapet. Taking the brunt of the impact, the Oakflesh spell dissipated instantly, letting his head crack ominously against the cold stone.

He blacked out.

* * *

Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, Change, Revolution, Energy and Ambition was holed up in his main fortress, proudly erected above the Deadlands' seas of lava and ashen soils.

The stronghold was clearly daedric in its design, large menacing pikes littering the place, gushes of flames randomly spurting out the structure's walls. The many dremora Churls, Caitiff, Kynval, Kynreeve and Kynmarcher had contributed to the friendly atmosphere by hanging the mangled corpses of their victims from the ceiling like some sort of sick hunting trophies, while the higher ranked Markynaz and Valkynaz – the Prince's most loyal servants – had simply decided to enjoy to the fullest their most curious shared obsession of playing _"_ _T_ _he floor is lava"_ with the few mortals brave – or foolish – enough to enter their realm, the carbonized remains bathing in lava pools appearing quite festive to the daedra.

The four-armed demon god was relaxing – if seating on a throne steeped in the blood of ones' own devoted troops could be considered relaxing – when he felt… _something_ , give way.

The sensation was so insignificant though, that it left his mind in the next second. Why bother with an itch, when he could be plotting the fall of the mortal realm?

If he only knew...

* * *

Harry's return to consciousness was a brutal affair, his body jolting awake at the feeling of freezing water raining down on him.

Short of breath, his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest, the wizard clenched his teeth in an effort to regain his bearings.

" _Your survived, mortal."_ observed Hermaeus Mora. "C _ongratulations."_

"What happened?" asked the wizard with some difficulty, ignoring the blatant disinterest dripping from the Prince's flat voice.

" _You changed the fate of a Daedric Artifact… again."_

"Not what I'm asking." he mumbled, dragging himself into a seating position and exploring his injuries.

So far, he had no open wounds, merely a bruised back and a killer headache easily explained by his encounter with the wall. He had no idea where the tachycardia was coming from though.

"How long was I out?"

" _From the moment your delicate skull impacted the wall, thirty minutes and forty-seven seconds."_

"Thirty…?!" he repeated, thoroughly shocked. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

" _The house elf tried to, but you threw him off the tower."_

…

"WHAT?!"

At the sudden motion, a sharp wave of pain shot through the wizard's skull. Had he broken something, or was it only a concussion?

He would have healed himself, but his Nirnian magic was dangerously depleted, as was his Wizardry magic. He was essentially surviving on his daedric energy right now… which could explain the rapidly beating heart. That stuff was toxic.

" _Do not worry, he returned to the Chamber."_ assured the Prince. _"Though, according to your mother,_ _he disapproves_ _of_ _your behavior_ _."_

"No kidding?" ironized Harry. "How the hell did it happen anyway? Wasn't I unconscious?"

" _You were. Y_ _our magic was_ _simply_ _being… territorial."_ summarized the daedra.

"Territorial?"

" _It repelled any attempt the elf made to reach you, I can only assume due to your recent acquisition."_

"What acquisition?" asked the wizard, not exactly liking Hermaeus' contemplative tone.

" _Your new wand, obviously."_

Harry's brain froze for the second time in as many minutes.

" _That confrontation between Dagon's energy and my own should have vaporized this tower, but your own magic somehow acted as a buffer. The wand seems to have recognized your action as a proper victory against its creator and consecutively, changed allegiance."_ explained the Prince. _"_ _I believe that, once ag_ _ain, congratulations_ _are in order_ _."_

And this time, Harry heard neither disinterest nor sarcasm. Hermaeus Mora was genuinely complimenting him.

The wizard grumbled a 'thank you.' and, holding unto the parapet, slowly got back on his feet. Throwing a look around, he took notice of several things, the first being that while his glasses had remained on his eyes despite the explosion, they'd been badly damaged. As he was _still_ low on Wizardry magic, they sadly would have to remain broken for a bit longer.

Harry also noted with no small amount of satisfaction the absence of a certain telescope, most certainly sent to ground level by the shockwave. Conveniently, he didn't even consider the poor student who would now have to buy a new one.

The third observation he made was that the released energy hadn't just blown stuff up, but also carved an intricate pattern into the pavement, looking like a burned cobweb. The staff would attribute it to a lightning strike… maybe.

The last remarkable point was the mystical – and cursed to the teeth – wand he'd manifestly won, laying on the ground some seven feet away from him. Sighing, the wizard made to retrieve his _price…_ only to feel a sudden weight in his hand. He looked at his palm and, sure enough, the damn thing had just teleported itself there.

His eyebrow twitched… twice.

"I'm _so_ killing Diggory."

* * *

Ron Weasley stared unblinkingly at the green-eyed Gryffindor amicably chatting with Hermione. He hadn't wanted to believe the witch at first, but the truth couldn't be ignored anymore.

Ever since the beginning of term, Harry had _changed_.

He'd stopped hanging out or taking his meals with them, refused to play chess – he'd been forced to ask Dean! – and was turning his homework in time. He'd taken to skip Quidditch training, would barely even fly anymore. The free periods they had, instead of lazing around like they used to, he now used on books and studies.

And ever since her birthday, he'd managed to turn the girl's opinion around and made her into even more of a bookworm, just by giving her a journal.

From what he'd seen, it was only a bunch of extremely common magical knowledge with incomprehensible notes and references in the margins… what could be so exciting about it?

"What about you, Ron?" suddenly called the famous Boy-who-lived. "Had a good night?"

Not knowing how to react at being addressed so familiarly by someone he almost hadn't seen for the better part of the month, the redhead simply chose to shrug.

"Yeah, me neither." grumbled his roommate. "A certain bird refused to let me sleep."

"Hedwig?" guessed Hermione, peeking over her damn diary.

"Nah, another one." hissed Harry, glaring at… the Hufflepuff table? "Sneaky bastard."

"Language!" practically shouted Hermione.

She tried to send a look of her own to their friend, but he'd already turned his attention to the head table.

"Anyway, what's wrong with Professor Sinistra? She looks agitated."

The Astronomy teacher was indeed gesticulating around, which seemed to amuse her neighbors… well, Professor Vector anyway. Snape just wasn't human enough to understand the concept of amusement.

"There was a storm last night." explained Parvati Patil from further down the table. "Apparently, thunder struck the Astronomy tower and destroyed her telescope."

"Professor Hooch found it during her morning flight." added her friend, Lavender Brown. "The thing melted down completely."

"Good thing Professor Sinistra canceled class." remarked Hermione. "Imagine if it had hit a student."

"Imagine if it had hit her." joked Ron.

"RONALD!"

Harry made no comment, his face remaining disturbingly blank throughout breakfast.

Ron started to wonder if, perhaps, Harry's changed attitude wasn't a result of the loss of his sense of humor.


	6. Visibility

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _No one can hide forever._

* * *

Visibility

* * *

A month ago, Harry Potter had opened the Chamber of Secrets on a whim.

No, really. Colin Creevey had been pestering him nonstop with that annoying camera of his, Lockhart had begun his classes by proving that he was just an arrogant git and Snape's death glares had returned with a vengeance, just like the usual boasting Malfoy liked to puke every other day.

Harry had had enough in record time and resorted to blow steam by facing a mythical creature and unleashing a Daedric Prince on the school. It had been that or killing one of the four nuisances.

What he wouldn't do to turn back time and take the other option. As it turns out, he could only grind his teeth as Lockhart made a joke of his favorite subject.

"That class is bloody useless." snarled the annoyed wizard, stomping out of yet another ridiculous class. "Why is that jerk even allowed to teach?"

" _Your headmaster is senile?"_ offered Hermaeus.

"Don't swear." scowled Hermione, catching up to her friend. "Professor Lockhart –"

"Is a joke." insisted the wizard. "Don't you see? He spends more time talking about hair products than actually teaching Defense."

"Don't bother Harry." smiled Ron, grabbing the witch by the shoulders. "Our dear Hermione is blinded by the massive crush she has on the cretin."

"I don't have a… crush." blushed the brunette, trying to hide behind her hair.

"Sure you don't."

Harry smiled at the scene.

With the Elder Wand secured, he'd managed to return to a saner lifestyle, complete with proper sleeping hours, decent meals taken in the Great Hall and actual social interactions with his friends and schoolmates. He'd talked magical theory with Hermione and Herbology with Neville, played a few chess games with Ron and even returned to his Quidditch training.

If it weren't for the four aforementioned nuisances, he would have almost admitted having a good time.

"What's wrong, Scarhead?" sneered a voice, making all three friends tense. "The class isn't to your taste? You need a babysitter to learn proper spellcraft?"

" _Speak of the devil."_

The Defense classroom had emptied by now, leaving every student in the corridor facing a conventional Golden Trio versus Malfoy shootout.

Things were bound to get ugly.

"Go away Malfoy." growled Ron. "And take your bookends with you."

Grab and Goyle glared back, an angry rumble making its way out of their throats.

"You got a problem, Weasel?" smirked the blond. "Afraid I'll point out how inadequate the three of you are at magic?"

Most of the Slytherins in attendance snickered.

"Don't worry, I won't talk about your incompetence… though, I guess you _do_ have an excuse. I mean, it's no wonder you're a sleazy wizard seeing as you can't even afford proper clothes… or a wand… or spell books… or… wait, I almost forgot, you can't read."

"YOU BLOODY –"

"RON!" interrupted Harry. "Drop it, he's not worth our time."

The Gryffindor grumbled at the Slytherin's satisfied smile, Hermione putting a reassuring hand on his arm – and more than ready to restrain him if she had to.

Harry himself was extremely tempted to open a portal and let Draco take an acid bath in Apocrypha.

" _I would suggest f_ _eeding him to the Basilisk,_ _but I don't want to poison my guardian."_

Containing a snort, the contractor focused back on the bane of his existence… well, one of them.

"I would rather say that _you_ are not worth _my_ time." said the ponce. "But I'm feeling generous today and I might just give you a few advices. Maybe I'll even teach you a spell or two."

"Please, we would learn more just by talking five minutes with Seamus Finnigan." observed Hermione, pointing at their Housemate. "No offense Seamus."

Harry had to agree, their classmate was _quite_ the accidental pyromaniac.

"Finnigan doesn't know the first thing about defense, he's just good at blowing himself up like the useless Gryffindor he is." snapped Malfoy. "I, on the other end, can do true masterful spellwork."

Every single Gryffindor snorted in perfect sync.

"Father taught me extensively last summer, and even Mother was quite impressed with my progress." continued the Slytherin, feeling rather self-important. "It it evident that my lineage gives me an edge when it comes to learning the dark… huh, defense."

" _What a telling slip up."_

"Yes, I'm sure your parents are really proud of their spoiled, racist, ignorant, inbred marvel of a son."

"You have no right to talk about my parents like that, Scarhead!" hissed Draco. "You're nothing but the orphan bastard of a mudblood and a blood traitor. Know your place!"

At the Slytherin unthinkable words, the entire hallway utterly froze. None could believe that Malfoy would stoop so low at to attack Potter's _dead_ parents.

Shock turned into fright when an oppressing feeling abruptly seized the students by the throat. The general temperature seemingly dropped by a few hundred degrees and their brains started to yell at them to turn tail and run away as fast as possible from the incoming storm.

Slowly turning to their best friend, Ron and Hermione discovered his face devoid of any emotion, his clenched knuckles and tense shoulders another clear sign of his barely contained wrath. They'd never seen him in that state before, had he always had it in him?

"And what gives _**you**_ the right to talk about _**my**_ parents like that?"

He'd barely spoken, barely whispered even, yet Gryffindors like Slytherins distinctly heard the blizzard in his tone, if not the daedric magic seeping in voice, awakened by his rightful fury.

"Harry." tried Hermione, shakily reaching for his arm. "Please, calm down. You can't –"

"BAD HARRY!" interrupted another voice, not commonly heard by either of the Houses.

A blonde Ravenclaw had just appeared in the hallways, walking toward them in exaggerated bunny hops. The tense atmosphere didn't seem to affect her one bit, as she stopped right between Draco and Harry, beamed widely at the later and… poked him on the nose.

"Bad Harry." she repeated. "No killing the snake with that many witnesses. You'd be send to Azkaban and we'd have to break you out."

"Go away Lovegood." hissed the Gryffindor.

"Not before you let that wand go." she smiled, pointing at the focus.

The onlookers had to do a double take. _When_ had Potter grabbed his wand? Except for his close friends and a quartet of Slytherins, none remarked that said wand wasn't Potter's usual one.

Harry glared at the first year.

Luna smiled back.

With a heavy sigh, the Gryffindor returned the Elder Wand to his back pocket.

"Thank you." nodded the witch, before spinning around and decking Draco square in the jaw. "You deserved that."

Every student gasped, hissed or blinked in disbelief.

"I'm starving." absentmindedly commented the Ravenclaw, ignoring the looks directed at her. "Come on Harry, I heard there's roasted deer on tonight's menu."

Without a second glance, she turned around and danced her way to the Great Hall.

Ron looked ready to worship his sister's weird friend, while Hermione seemed torn between berating and hugging the blonde.

Harry could only shake his head at the girl's antics.

* * *

From time to time, students and professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry got to enjoy a spectacle at dinner, usually provided by a certain pair of twins.

For once though, the spectacle was solely for the enjoyment of the students – as the teachers couldn't really show any outright appreciation of it and remain unbiased – and had been offered by an entirely different organizer.

Eating in silence at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy looked a lot more subdue than customary. There was no boasting nor sneering, those favorite activities of his replaced by a lot of rubbing his red and hurting jaw.

"He's pissed." remarked Harry, a smile seemingly glued on his face.

Luna Lovegood looked up from her piece of cooked deer.

When she'd claimed a seat at the gold and red table, most of the House had glared at the invading Ravenclaw even as a seventh year student had stated, using a rather crude language, that the witch had two minutes to get the hell away of her own accord.

Thankfully, Ron's timely intervention had prevented any incident. The redhead had recounted their last encounter with a certain Slytherin and how his sister's friend had knocked Malfoy flat on his ass. The other second year Gryffindors had further vowed for the girl and she'd been accepted as an honorary lion, much to Ginny's delight.

"And?" asked the curious witch, not seeing where Harry was going with that.

The wizard shrugged and returned to his own meal, not worrying one bit for the Ravenclaw. If she could handle Sheogorath, she could handle the ponce.

"Malfoy will try to get back at you." explained Hermione in a whisper. "You may want to be careful around him."

"No need for that." waved off Ron. "He's probably too scared of her to do anything."

"But what if he tries an indirect approach? He could report her to the professors, have another student curse her in the back or even ask his father to frame her for something."

Harry's eyes narrowed menacingly.

Malfoy senior… the arrogant asshole had tried to have him possessed and/or killed by a murderous diary that would have unleashed a ravenous Basilisk on unsuspected students.

Something had to be done about that lunatic, the sooner the better.

"But I'd still know it's from him, right?" asked the blonde witch, her head cocked to the side.

"He would probably gloat about it, yes." acknowledged Hermione.

"I'd just punch him again then."

Ron would have snorted, but Hermione's warning glance silenced him efficaciously.

"You can't resolve all your issues by punching everyone." she insisted.

"It works on Malfoy." pointed out the Ravenclaw. "Though, if you prefer, I can always let Harry finish what he started earlier."

The bushy-haired witch blanched at the memory, barely repressing a shiver as she looked at her friend in a mix of sympathy, confusion and fear. She tried to speak, but a lump formed in her throat and no word dared pass her lips.

Every other second years within hearing-distance was in a similar state, most of them wincing when Harry sighed loudly.

"Look, I'm sorry for the… minor overreaction –"

"Understatement of the century." mumbled Dean Thomas.

"– but Malfoy's comment made my blood run cold… my magic too, I suppose." said Harry, receiving several nods.

"I can't really promise it won't happen again, seeing as I'm not even sure what exactly happened or how." he lied. "But… I'll try to keep my emotions in check."

"Sure… do that." almost squeaked Ron. "No offense mate, but back there you were… scary."

" _Really_ scary." emphasized Parvati Patil.

"It could have been worse." commented Luna in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone. "Harry could have just stab his wand up Malfoy's eye socket. He has good reflexes, you know."

Strangely enough, it only made the Gryffindors gulp nervously.

Hermione shook herself out of her daze at the mention of her friend's wand and fixed him with an inquisitive look.

"Holly, Phoenix feather core, eleven inches, nice and supple." she recited from memory. "Luna's right, you could have used your wand, but that _wasn't_ your wand."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" asked Harry, smiling at his friend.

"Harry." warned Hermione sternly.

"Family heirloom." he lied again, slightly disturbed by how easy it was becoming. "Thirteen inches and a half, extremely flexible elder wood, not sure about the core."

The Artifact was extremely annoying with its random teleportations and desire to be used, but thank Merlin for small mercy, the damn thing had started to adapt to its new master and its previous form was gradually fading away. Explaining why he had a copy of the Headmaster's wand would have been a challenge.

"I grabbed it from my vault in Gringotts. Thought it would be a good idea to practice casting with a slightly less adequate wand."

Yeah, he wasn't going to tell them that the thing actually worked even better than his old focus.

"Makes sense." nodded Ron. "Can we see it?"

Harry retrieved the focus and was about to hand it to his friend when Lovegood reached over the table and grabbed him by the wrist.

"Don't."

"What?" exclaimed the redhead. "Why?"

"This is a _family heirloom_." she lied shamelessly as she release her hold. "It has been without a chosen witch or wizard for Merlin knows how many generations. If someone other than Harry was to somehow bound with it, that person would basically be stealing a treasured memorial from the Potter family, even if Harry was to give permission. And the Wizengamot takes poorly to attempted theft."

Harry frowned at the pile of Baliwog shit the Madgod's protege was shoveling. She had to have a true reason for this, but he couldn't see it just yet.

They would need to talk… extensively.

"Sorry pal." apologized the wizard, putting the wand away.

"No problem." mumbled Ron, clearly unhappy.

Dinner resumed and no more mention of the wand or Harry's previous homicidal state were made, but every so often, Hermione would still glance at the two daedric followers.

He could _so_ feel the private questioning coming.

* * *

When Lovegood had exited the Great Hall, Harry had immediately cornered her and asked the true reasoning behind her recent act.

Contrarily to what he'd expected, the answer had been extremely brief, the witch merely explaining that as owner of the Elder Wand, he could _reward_ whoever he saw fit with the daedric Artifact. If he'd handed it to Ron voluntarily, the wand would have recognized it as an unconscious command and happily obeyed her master, accepting the redhead as a temporary user and most certainly unleashing the usual sparks.

Hermaeus Mora had confirmed her statement and Harry had been forced to thank the girl. He really didn't want to think about the reactions a 'Potter' wand seemingly binding with a wizard in the middle of dinner would have gathered from the rest of the school.

"You're welcome." had smiled Lovegood, before retiring for the night in her traditional bunny hops.

The lone wizard had then made his way to the Gryffindor Common Room, only to be confronted with Hermione's barrage of questions regarding the weird friendship he had with the Ravenclaw.

It hadn't exactly been brief nor particularly pleasant, but he'd managed to stave her off as soon as she'd let him enough time to answer, giving a diluted recount of his first encounter with Lovegood. He'd omitted the presence of Diggory altogether and transformed what had basically been a kidnapping into the most accidental meeting of two teenagers coincidentally exploring the exact same unused room, seeing no reason to reveal that said room had been a humongous secret chamber built by Salazar Slytherin himself to house his pet Basilisk.

The young witch had hugged him unexpectedly and expressed her happiness at seeing him expand his horizons by meeting other peoples. She'd seemed a lot less accepting of the reckless exploring and curfew infraction though.

Not really thrilled at the prospect of facing his friend's disapproving sermon at the time, Harry had excused himself and promptly retreated to his bed.

Finally sliding into the silenced and warded haven, the wizard closed his eyes and asked the one thing on his mind.

"What do we do about Lucius?"

" _Depends"_ answered Mora in that poisonous voice of his. _"Do you want him alive or not?"_

"Given what he tried to pull, killing him would be a mercy."

" _The long way around_ _then_ _."_ hummed the Prince. _"You have several options, some more time-consuming than others but detrimental to the man to a greater extent."_

"What's the worst?"

" _Again, it depends. Should you wish to see him vilified by his peers, political warfare would be the way to go, using whatever skeleton he hides in his closet against him. An economical conflict however, would render him penniless, whereas psychological warfare would see him visit Sheogorath's domain. If you're extremely dedicated though, a combination of those is al_ _ways_ _feasible."_

Harry decided that, for once in his life, it would do him some good to be an overachiever.

" _Excellent."_ grinned the daedra. _"Now,_ _I_ _would advise you to start_ _your_ quest _by_ _questioning other students about this mortal, preferably ones with connection to the Wizengamot or the Auror department. Your mother can_ _always_ _share whatever information she has on this Lucius Malfoy,_ _but you will want up-to-date data_ _."_

"Makes sense."

" _Once y_ _ou_ _'ll_ _have a decent grasp of your enemy's_ _strengths and weaknesses,_ _you may start l_ _ook_ _ing_ _for patterns."_ continued Hermaeus. _"_ _L_ _earn how he acts and think_ _s_ _, establish his exact position in the current society and_ _study_ _his connection to the other players. Only then will you be able to_ _reach_ _him."_

"Thanks." smiled Harry. "How much?"

" _Four hundred points, already debited."_

The wizard sighed as the equivalent of an entire volume on combustion engines vanished into thin air.

Advice was pricey.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass, designated Ice Queen of Slytherin and proper representative of her House's true values, was making her way to breakfast when her trained and quite sensitive ears caught a most enlightening conversation between Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, resident members of Hufflepuff.

A certain Gryffindor figurehead with an annoyingly hyphenated name had apparently approached the redhead and asked her to convey a letter to her aunt, offering a future favor in exchange.

The blonde witch had to wonder what Potter had gotten himself into this year. Clearly something huge, if it required to contact the current Head of the DMLE.

She filled that tidbit of information with the ones pertaining to his secondary wand and casually entered the Great Hall, her calm exterior never betraying her growing curiosity at the seemingly inconsequential events rapidly piling up.

The frequent exhaustion, disappearing acts, short temper and heated arguments with his friends, not to mention the utterly terrifying magical presence… it made absolutely no doubt in her mind that _s_ _omething_ was brewing on the horizon.

She would have to talk with Tracey… warning Nott and Zabini wouldn't hurt either.

Harry Potter _had_ to be monitored.

* * *

Following Hermaeus' _advices_ , Harry had redacted a letter to the attention of Susan's aunt Amelia Bones, supervisor of the magical police and former friend of his mother.

The young wizard had resumed his last run in with Draco Malfoy and explained how this new encounter had given him pause. How he'd suddenly worried about various claims the blond ponce had shrieked before, claims which legitimacy he was now seriously questioning.

Should something happen to the Malfoy heir, was his father truly capable of 'making him pay'? Could he even, perhaps, exact retribution for some imaginary slight his son would have endured? Wasn't the man supposed to have been a marked Death Eater during the war? Why was he still parading around and not rotting away in a bottomless pit somewhere? Had the ones in charge really bought that 'Imperius defense' nonsense? And most important question of all, could anything actually be done about it?

Harry had just received the return letter and to be perfectly frank, he didn't like the answers one bit.

The man appeared more than sufficiently connected and nothing short of untouchable on paper. Researches had also revealed that attempting political maneuvers was unthinkable without the status of Family Head, which the Gryffindor couldn't claim prior to his majority. The same issue further restrained his movements by preventing any access to the main Potter vault, making any sort of economical opposition equally impossible.

If he wanted to take the Death Eater out of the picture, he would have to take a roundabout way to get to him.

"Psychological warfare." he mused, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Illusion school it is."

Lucius wouldn't see it coming.

* * *

It was Friday the 16th and Harry was occupying himself by discreetly sending low-powered Courage spells under the table.

Targeting his Housemates wasn't exactly admirable, but while training in the School of Illusion could be done with self-targeting spells such as Clairvoyance or Silence, it required living targets to properly appreciate and understand the delicate and intricate art of emotion manipulation.

Besides, he was merely cheering the students up and feeling at lot less guilty about it than if he'd been using Fear spells. Starting a riot by driving unaware teenagers into a magically-induced frenzy wouldn't have been that discreet.

The wizard was layering a third spell on Neville – who would soon be sufficiently fired up to challenge Snape to a duel – when the face of a familiar and extremely annoying individual filled his entire field of vision.

"What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking the same thing, Lovegood." replied Harry. "I don't have time for your nonsense tonight. Why don't you go bother the bird?"

"I will." assured the girl. "I just want to understand why you're losing your time here when someone's waiting for you elsewhere."

Those cryptic words were more than enough to gather every kind of unwanted attention and Harry's immediate neighbors instantly ceased their respective discussions to focus on the strange duo.

"Someone's waiting for him?" repeated Hermione, receiving a nod from the blonde. "Who is it?"

Instead of answering, the Ravenclaw stayed stubbornly silent as she pointedly fixed Harry.

After several insufferable seconds, the Gryffindor's brain finally made the connection and he jerked out of his chair, sending it sprawling on the ground. Ignoring his friends' exclamations of surprise, the wizard hugged the grinning girl before rushing out of the Great Hall, leaving many perplexed souls in his wake.

As she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table, a mysterious smile bloomed on Luna Lovegood's face.

* * *

Had any sane individual stepped into the Chamber of Secret at that instant, said person would have either chocked, fainted or suffered a mild heart attack, the poisonous atmosphere pressing down on them and distorting their fragile psyche.

Thankfully, Harry Potter was anything but sane.

When he'd still been working on the shrine, sliding down the pipe and hissing some stupid password at every single door had simply bored the young wizard. Sculpting had infuriated him – he liked his blood inside his veins, thank you very much – and Dobby's extremely vocal presence hadn't helped his nerves either, though the elf had at least had the decency to do his job properly, cleaning and redecorating the place.

With the Liminal Bridge between Earth and Apocrypha finally snapping into place, Hermaeus' Seekers had rapidly invaded their master's new lair, their complete muteness effectively clashing with the elf's bubbly personality. It had disturbed Harry so badly that he'd vowed to never ever set foot in the Chamber again outside of an 'end of the world' scenario.

And yet here he was, standing just past the threshold to the main chamber, basking in the dense and warm daedric miasma flowing out of Hermaeus' altar. Never before had he found the place so tranquil and welcoming.

It may have something to do with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves circling the entire area, appropriately giving it a 'temple of knowledge' kind of vibe.

Unless it was somehow connected to the Seekers finally resorting to their innate abilities, cloaking themselves in a reflective layer of illusion magic to hide their daedric appearances from sight.

Or the present situation may simply be an 'end of the world' scenario of sort, just in a more figurative and emotional sense of the word as instead of threatening the entire planet, it would merely rock Harry's world to its very foundations.

When the wizard had accepted to build Hermaeus Mora's shrine, he'd bargained to receive two separate rewards for his efforts, the first one being the Scholar's Insight ability, a magical enhancement designed to mute most of his unconscious background thoughts, consecutively making retaining memories and knowledge easier. The second reward, while unrecoverable at the time, had been the formal promise for the Chamber to be turned into an annexe or enclave of sort, a piece of Apocrypha away from the Oblivion plane where every single piece of knowledge pertaining to Earth and the Wizardry World would be returned.

This offer had been entirely weaved around an extremely simple truth: every library needs its librarian.

With the very air saturated by high-levels of daedric energies continuously pouring out of the altar, otherwise immaterial beings would be able to remain as tangible in the Chamber as they would be in their Lord's dimension.

The strange knot in the contractor's stomach both dissipated and contracted further at the same time – a wizard did it, don't ask – as he caught sight, right before the altar, of a crown of red hair framing the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

"Mom." he breathed.

Hearing a soft voice in the otherwise silent chamber, Lily Potter looked up from some obscure tome of arcane magic she'd been perusing.

Green eyes met green eyes.

The young wizard started to run instantly, even as a blinding smile bloomed on the witch's face. Jumping out of her seat, she walked straight through her mahogany desk – it was a ghost perk… the intangibility, not the desk – and braced herself for impact. Her twelve years old son soon rammed into her at breakneck speed, sending them both sprawling on the floor.

What followed was undoubtedly the longest-lasting embrace in recorded history.

Mother and son had several years to catch up on.

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, under the direction of its Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, had the reputation of solely hiring rigorously selected teachers capable of both dispensing the very best expertise possible to their numerous students and enforcing a rather strict code of conduct leading to unforgiven punishment shall some wayward student ever be caught breaking it.

Under any other circumstances, Harry would have questioned the sanity of mind of whoever had initially created that reputation.

After all, the young wizard had long since learnt that the staff was utterly ineffective whenever he was concerned. As a first year only, he'd broken curfew many times, visiting the restricted section, smuggling a dragon, stealing and replacing the Mirror of Erised – though he'd had help from his newfound demon-god guardian – and even facing his possessed undead professor.

Had anyone caught him?

Yes, during the dragon episode. McGonagall had cornered them – he'd been with Hermione at the time – when Draco had snitched.

Had he ever been punished?

Well, yes and no. He _had_ been sent into the Forbidden Forest to track down a unicorn-killer, but it wasn't exactly a legal punishment, more like a torture session from hell.

Then, there was second year. It had started mere weeks ago, yet in that short amount of time, he'd already located a legendary chamber, consecrated a daedric altar and breached the Headmaster's office to replace the man's own personal wand by a counterfeit.

It was even worst this time, as he hadn't even been caught once. Dumbledore's pet phoenix had interrupted him once, but the bird had ultimately given his blessing, so it didn't count.

Were it not for the record set by his father's band of merry friends or the Weasley twins still regularly pulverizing the curfew, Harry would without doubt be the biggest rule-breaker in school history. Plus he always got off scot-free.

Except maybe this time.

He'd been casually sneaking back to the Gryffindor Common Room, safely cloaked by his favorite Artifact – the wand was _extremely_ annoying – when the patrolling teacher had suddenly leaped out of a secret passage like some jack-in-the-box and cast a disturbingly familiar area stunner.

Harry reacted on instinct, weaving an Oakflesh into existence as he rolled out of the way. It turned out to be a sensible response as the outermost part of the crimson wave uselessly washed over his newly evoked protection, doing nothing more than stinging the wizard.

Turning around to face his unexpected – and undesired – opponent, the young contractor came face to tip with a faintly glowing wand and the narrowed eyes of an angry looking Filius Flitwick standing right in front of him.

"Why did you come back?"

Okay, so he'd definitely underestimated the diminutive professor before. He would never _ever_ repeat that mistake. The man had detected him twice now, despite the daedric protection bestowed by the cloak. That second instance wasn't even a mere reflex on the half-goblin's part, as the secret passageway's usage suggested that the man had actually tracked him down.

Staying silent wouldn't do it this time.

Focusing on what little he knew from the Illusion School, Harry applied the tiniest amount of Nirnian and daedric magic unto himself before speaking.

" _ **Wh** o **sa** id I **ev** e **r le** ft **?** "_

Wow, he was officially creeping himself out right now.

* * *

" _ **Wh** o **sa** id I **ev** e **r le** ft **?** "_ retorted the intruder's magically distorted voice.

Much like his – her? – presence, it was… strange, randomly shifting into higher and lower timbres yet somehow managing to remain perfectly toneless.

Filius Flitwick had been a Charm Master and Dueling Champion for quite some years now, making him extremely knowledgeable when it came to strange and unusual spells, but never before had he heard of such a modulating charm.

"Who are you?" he asked firmly, letting none of his surprise appear. "What are you looking for? How did you enter the castle without alerting the Headmaster to your presence? What spell do you use to hide yourself?"

" _ **I'm** ju **st a** n in **noc** ent rese **a** r **cher** **, do** in **g so** m **e si** ghts **e** ei **ng**." _ came the reply. _" **As f** or you **r** o **ther qu** est **ion** **s** , I **must** ad **m** it t **o** **b** ei **ng** sur **pris** ed. S **u** rely **as** **He** ad of **Ra** vencl **a** w, y **ou** **must have a t** h **e** or **y** **or** two?"_

"I'm asking the questions." impatiently affirmed the half-goblin.

" _ **Y**_ _o_ _ **u ar**_ _e."_ confirmed the being. _"_ _ **Bu**_ _t w_ _ **h**_ _y_ _ **sho**_ _ul_ _ **d**_ _I_ _ **answ**_ _er_ _ **?**_ _"_

"You don't have a choice." glared he teacher, rapidly losing his calm. "Know that I have been a charm master for decades now. Every shield you can conjure, I can overpower. Every curse you cast, I can counter in an instant. I sincerely doubt you would even manage to hit me, ever."

He wasn't boasting, it was a _fact._

" _ **Con** fi **d** ent **, a** r **en** 't yo **u?**_ _He **re, ha** v **e a w** ar **nin** g **sho** t."_

Without any precursor sign, the trespasser suddenly willed a bolt of pure lightning into existence, unleashing it at the ceiling.

Filius had barely escaped the sneak attack that, already, the intruder was speaking again in that indifferent tone of his.

" ** _Ha_** _d th_ ** _at bo_** _l_ ** _t_** _been a fe_ ** _w cen_** _ti_ ** _mete_** _rs_ ** _to the le_** _ft, it w_ ** _ould_** ** _h_** _a_ ** _ve_ _g_** _o_ ** _n_ _e_ _st_** _ra_ ** _ig_** _h_ ** _t th_** _r_ ** _o_** _u_ ** _g_** _h_ ** _your_** _jaw a_ ** _nd_** _mos_ ** _t cert_** _ain_ ** _ly_ _f_** _rie_ ** _d y_** _our_ ** _b_** _ra_ ** _in._** _A_ ** _perf_** _ect_ ** _op_** _po_ ** _r_** _tu_ ** _n_** _ity, b_ ** _u_** _t_ ** _I wo_** _ul_ ** _d_** _fee_ ** _l bad d_** _ep_ ** _rivi_** _ng_ ** _th_** _e stu_ ** _de_** _n_ ** _ts of t_** _heir C_ ** _ha_** _r_ ** _m te_** _ac_ ** _her._** _"_

That gave the diminutive professor pause, his eyes widening as he stared at the invisible presence for two interminable seconds, trying to grasp that disturbingly morbid news. Only then did he realize that he was, in fact, very much alive.

For some obscure reason, the man had just _spared_ him.

"Why?" he finally asked, hesitant.

" _As_ _ **I said**_ _, a_ _ **mere w**_ _arni_ _ **n**_ _g_ _ **sh**_ _o_ _ **t.**_ _"_

"Why?" he insisted.

" _ **Unli**_ _ke_ _ **y**_ _ou, I_ _ **don't pa**_ _r_ _ **ticula**_ _r_ _ **l**_ _y ca_ re _fo_ _ **r**_ _a fig_ _ **ht.**_ _"_ shrugged the visitor. _"_ _ **Do**_ _n't gi_ _ **ve m**_ _e that l_ _ **o**_ _ **o**_ _ **k**_ _,_ _ **I**_ _never dist_ _ **urb**_ _ed_ _ **any**_ _one ye_ _ **t**_ _t_ _wice alre_ _ **ady**_ _h_ _ **a**_ _v_ _ **e**_ _you ta_ _ **rge**_ _ted m_ _ **e.**_ _H_ _ **ad I**_ _spla_ _ **tter**_ _ed y_ _ **ou**_ _r hea_ _ **d**_ _on_ _ **th**_ _e ce_ _ **ili**_ _n_ _ **g,**_ _it w_ _ **ould**_ _ **h**_ _ave bee_ _ **n i**_ _n sel_ _ **f-de**_ _fens_ _ **e.**_ _"_

"You are trespassing unto the school grounds with unclear intentions, while under several dissimulating charms." frowned Filius. "I have every reason to consider you as hostile."

Except that the man's intentions – or was she a woman? – while being extremely shady, had so far never harmed any students or endangered the school.

The problem, in this particular case, came for the concealing spells themselves. The being currently had no physical presence, made absolutely zero sound and emitted neither magic, smell nor heat, registering as a spot of pure emptiness to the half-goblin's sharp senses. While others invisibly roamed the corridors from time to time – most of them students, though Albus liked to partake in the fun from time to time – none had so thoroughly hidden themselves before.

" _T_ _ **ru**_ _e_ _ **.**_ _"_ acknowledged the intruder. _"H_ _ **a**_ _d I_ _a_ _ **ctuall**_ _y_ _ **b**_ _e_ _ **en**_ _trespa_ _ **s**_ _sin_ _ **g**_ _in_ _ **the**_ _ **facil**_ _ity_ _ **I a**_ _m_ _usin_ _ **g**_ _da_ _ **ily**_ _."_

"A student." understood Filius, floored by the implications. "No wonder the school wards didn't registered your presence."

" _ **You**_ _'re_ _ **not**_ _ **e**_ _v_ _ **en**_ _co_ _ **ns**_ _ide_ _ **r**_ _ **ing**_ _that I_ _ **ma**_ _y b_ _ **e one o**_ _f_ _ **your**_ _colleag_ _ **ue**_ _s_ _ **?**_ "

"No." deadpanned the teacher.

Charity wouldn't have been capable of performing that earlier dodge, and neither would have Silvanus with all those missing limbs of his. Rolanda had the correct built for that kind of acrobatics, but as skilled as she was on her broom, the woman was surprisingly clumsy on solid ground. Irma spent every moment of her time locked away in her precious library, while Sybill did the same with her tower, so that ruled them both out. Poppy would have broken her Hippocratic Oath had she even contemplated the self-defense solution the being had mentioned earlier, Cuthbert had been dead for decades and Pomona was simply to honest for such underhanded acts. Aurora and Septima were joined at the hips, meaning that had one of them actually been standing there, the other would have long since cursed him in the back. Minerva would have just used her cat form and if Severus matched the profile both in personality and magical skill, the Potion Master would sooner hug a Gryffindor than act like one of those dunderheads he despised. Finally, the magic involved effectively disqualified both Argus, who was a squib, and Rubeus, whose wand had been snapped years ago. Also, the half-giant couldn't be discreet to save his life… Oh, and there was also Gilderoy Lockhart, but the man was an idiot.

" _ **Fin**_ _e, I'_ _ **m a**_ _s_ _ **t**_ _u_ _ **de**_ _nt_ _ **.**_ " confirmed the being. " _ **C**_ _a_ _ **n**_ _ **y**_ _o_ _u_ _lo_ _ **wer th**_ _at wan_ _ **d n**_ _o_ _ **w, p**_ _rofe_ _ **sso**_ _r_ _ **?**_ "

"I think not." denied Filius. "Student you may be, but you still remain a hazard."

" _H **ow** s **o?** "_

"You are breaking curfew – not to mention a couple dozen other rules – while under the effects of potent and almost flawless concealing spells, and I know of no legal activity that would require going to such lengths."

" _ **I**_ _ca_ _ **n**_ _ **th**_ _i_ _ **nk**_ _o_ _ **f a**_ _f_ _ **ew,**_ _ **b**_ _ut_ _ **I se**_ _e_ _ **you**_ _r poi_ _ **nt**_ _."_ conceded the invisible student. _"_ _ **Ho**_ _w_ _ **ma**_ _y I p_ _ **rov**_ _e my h_ _ **o**_ _n_ _ **esty?**_ _"_

"Cancel your spells and identify yourself."

" _ **N**_ _ow th_ _ **at'**_ _s n_ _ **ot**_ _a_ _ **pro**_ _per b_ _ **arga**_ _in._ _W_ _ **h**_ _ere_ _ **are**_ _my_ _ **inte**_ _rest_ _ **s**_ _ **?"**_

"I only bring you before the Headmaster, instead of contacting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

" _ **Te**_ _mpti_ _ **ng, b**_ _u_ _ **t I'll h**_ _ave to_ _ **refus**_ _e._ "

The next thing Filius saw was an orb of pale green light, flickering into existence and speeding toward him. The half-goblin was way too close to avoid what had to be a killing curse and his eyes closed as the spell impacted.

Except that instead of mercilessly robing him of his life, the spell seemed to… appease him.

" _A_ _ **simple**_ _calmi_ _ **ng ch**_ _a_ _ **rm**_ _ **w**_ _hich_ _ **w**_ _i_ _ **ll**_ _so_ _ **on di**_ _ssi_ _ **p**_ _at_ _ **e**_ _ **.**_ " explained the distorted voice of the student, piercing through his temporarily tranquilized mind. _"_ _U_ _ **nt**_ _il n_ _ **ext**_ _ti_ _ **me**_ _,_ _ **pro**_ _fess_ _ **o**_ _r_ _._ _ **M**_ _ **ay**_ _b_ _ **e the**_ _n will_ _ **yo**_ _u_ _ **hav**_ _e_ _g_ _ **at**_ _he_ _ **red**_ _act_ _ **ual**_ _pr_ _ **o**_ _of o_ _ **f my**_ _ **tr**_ _ul_ _ **y**_ _ **mo**_ _ns_ _ **tro**_ _u_ _ **s dispo**_ _siti_ _ **on**_ _s_ _ **.**_ "

The diminutive professor spent the next minute and a half waiting for the spell to end, eager to properly curse the extremely irritating spawn of a troll that had just spared him… _again_!

When he regained his bearings, the being was long gone.


	7. Samhain

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _Aren't you scared?_

* * *

Samhain

* * *

"Is he dead?" asked a voice, clearly faking worry.

"Looks like it." replied another on the same tone. "Should we check?"

"I suppose we should... but how?"

"We could check his pulse."

"That's boring, I say we poke him with a stick or something."

"Could work." admitted the second voice. "Use your wand."

"I had the idea." countered the other. "You do it."

"Fine, but I want the records to state that it was under duress."

"Get that thing anywhere near my face and you lose your hand." threatened an unmoving Harry Potter.

Seriously, what was wrong with those two? They had to be suicidal or something, because he distinctly remembered telling them that this place was a sanctuary where he wasn't to be disturbed, under penalty of severe and humiliating repercussions.

"Looks like he's alive, brother mine." commented the second voice, sounding quite amused.

"You sure?" asked the other with a similar mirth. "Seems pretty motionless to me."

Definitely suicidal… or seriously masochist.

"He spoke, Forge. Corpses don't do that."

"But ghosts do, Gred. He could be a ghost." theorized Forge, better known as Fred Weasley, fourth year Gryffindor.

"Wouldn't he fell through the table?" asked Fred's twin brother George, Gred for his friends.

"Not necessarily, I read somewhere that –"

"I'm trying to think here." interrupted the second year in a growl, eyes obstinately closed and fixed on the ceiling. "What do you two bloody menaces want?"

"At the moment, understand why you aren't passing through the furniture."

Harry decided that such perseverance deserved a rewarding answer.

"Screw you."

"Now that's not very polite."

"Neither is wasting my time." responded the younger wizard. "Now start talking or I'll start hexing."

"But we _are_ talking." simultaneously pointed out the two brothers.

The daedric contractor finally had enough and, slowly opening his eyes, pushed himself up in his seat. His building headache instantly worsened at the sight of the two identical redheads.

"Hey there Harry, how's it like –"

"to haunt the kitchens?"

"What. Do. You. Want?" hissed the younger Gryffindor, wand suddenly in hand and glowing an unhealthy yellow.

He really _really_ wanted to hex them now.

The Beaters gulped at the vicious look they were given by their star Seeker and hurried to explain themselves.

"Hermione knew you'd boycott the feast –"

"what's with today being Halloween and all –"

"but knowing that you'd be in the kitchen –"

"and not knowing where it was located –"

"she guilt-tripped us into checking up on you."

"I see." sighed the young wizard, pocketing his wand to the relief of his interlocutors. "Anything else?"

They may be pranksters and annoying as Oblivion, but those idiots were still trying to reassure Hermione… and escape her wrath. It wouldn't do to curse their teeth off for that.

"She wants you to eat properly."

"Which he clearly did, Forge. The elves aren't trying to mob him with food."

"We came to an understanding." summarized Harry. "They control their impulses and I control mine."

Meaning that as long as the little buggers didn't disturb him too frequently to sample their cooking, he wouldn't stun them and stack them in a corner like a pile of elven Jenga.

"Good for you… I guess." shrugged Gred. "Oh, and before I forget, we have a message from the lovely miss Lovegood."

"What does she want?" warily asked harry.

Knowing Sheogorath's protege, probably nothing good.

"She said she would be late."

"Late?" he repeated, right eyebrow rising.

"Her exact words were 'Tell Harry he doesn't have to hurry, she has an old friend to see and will run a bit late.'" shrugged Forge. "I have no idea why she speaks of herself in the third person though."

Harry nodded, understanding that the Ravenclaw had actually been referring to his mother, who he was scheduled to see in… well, a bit later now. The old friend was probably Luna's mother, Pandora.

Not that he would tell any of that to the twins.

"So… any other plan for the evening?" inquired Gred.

"Not that we want to pry –" hurried to add Forge. "– but we need something to report back to Hermione, or she'll be insufferable."

"Well, I have a few ideas… –" began Harry. "– but nothing definite."

Nothing he felt comfortable telling them anyway.

"Alright." nodded the fourth year. "Anything we could help you with?"

"No!" all but shouted the contractor.

That earned him surprised and disbelieving looks.

Coughing awkwardly, he lowered his voice and declined more politely.

"I mean… thanks, but no thanks."

The infamous Gryffindor troublemakers were dangerous enough as they were, no need to doom Hogwarts by having them dabble in Shadow Magic.

"Huh… sure." they stammered, slightly nonplussed by his reaction.

"So, need anything else?" asked Harry after three entire seconds of a strained and absolute silence.

"No, I think we're good. Gred?"

"We're good." confirmed the twin.

"We're good." repeated Forge, rising from his seat. "Thanks for your time, we'll just… leave you to whatever it is you're doing."

"See you later, Harry." they concluded in a single voice.

The contractor similarly bid them goodbye and returned to his reflexions, namely why he couldn't get that freaking cloak to function properly.

He'd spent the better part of two weeks studying the damn thing and couldn't for the love of Merlin understand how his Charm teacher had managed to detect him under an artifact fueled by the strongest magical art ever developed by mortals, supposed to hide him from _anything_ short of an Et'ada.

Sadly, his mom hadn't been able to share any intel, Hermaeus' price was high enough for that solution to be considered a last-resort, and as there was little hope of the Artifact somehow fixing itself, it meant that he would have to swallow his pride and ask for the help of a certain bird who, much like him, had been impossible to find for the better part of the day.

Great, just… great.

* * *

Resident Potion Master and Head of Slytherin House Severus Snape felt strangely conflicted as he drank firewhiskey in the sanctity of his private office.

Today was the eleventh anniversary of his Lord's defeat at the hand of the Potter brat, a date celebrated by all but the darker elements of the British Wizardry community… and Severus was not among them.

While he may believe in the superiority of wizardkind over their inapt neighbors, the half-blood had no quarrel with those of different blood status. In his eyes, wizards and witches weren't defined by their ancestry, but by their ability to use and understand magic.

That position itself made him a rather unique specimen among the Death Eaters, his former comrades firmly believing in the power of old blood… and money. Their opinions, however, mattered little to him. While the group had been much like a plague, Voldemort's death had been more of a boon for their society, allowing the old and new lines to flourish once more, mending the ravages that the war had wrought on the population.

But much like knowledge, peace always comes at a price.

Countless had died, even more had suffered… and Severus Snape had done both when he'd held Lily Evans' body, his childhood friend having forfeited her life to defend her son.

The Potion Master served himself another glass of the strong beverage as he silently cursed said reason for his internal struggle.

How was he supposed to treat the Potter boy? Should he hex him, ignore him, or give him the hug that both of them desperately needed?

Wait, where the hell had that thought come from? It had to be the alcohol speaking, because he would rather dye his hair bright pink and wear a tutu in public than comfort the idiotic Gryffindor… who was probably, at that exact moment, grieving the death of his parents.

Another string of r-rated words slurred out of his lips as the Potion Master vehemently denied the sudden empathy he felt for the Potter boy… Lily's boy.

The words died out and the self-loathing that had started this drinking marathon returned with a vengeance.

He wanted nothing more that to blame the infernal spawn for his mere existence, or even Voldemort for his fixation on the prophecy, but he couldn't just ignore his own responsibility in the affair. He'd brought the prophecy to his Lord, painting the target on his friend's back… if it weren't for him, Lily would still be alive today.

His glass was empty… again, but why even bother with a glass? Raising the entire bottle at eye-level, the inebriated man studied his distorted reflection.

Severus Snape Prince, half-blood wizard, Potion Master, Hogwarts' Professor… Death Eater, spy, murderer!

The man angrily threw the vessel at the wall, sending glass shards and alcohol all over the floor. Staring at the mess for a few seconds, he sighed loudly and dragged himself to his potion cupboard to grab another bottle.

It was… pathetic.

Had Lily seen him in such a state, she would have scolded him relentlessly until he stopped acting like a five-years old, using threats of mildly humiliating spells to help her make her point.

Probably something like –

"SEVERUS SNAPE PRINCE, put that bottle down this instant or I'll turn your robes Gryffindor red and make them unremovable."

* * *

"I waited ten years for my son to join Hogwarts." started Lily, glaring at the dumbstruck Potion Master. "Ten years for him to be in a sufficiently saturated magical environment during Samhain. And when finally, the veil was thin enough for me to manifest myself, do you know what I found?"

She received no answer from the stunned teacher, who just kept on glancing at his bottle.

"My son, congratulated by the entire student body for _losing his parents_." she hissed. "My son, smiling despite feeling depressed because he didn't want to _bother_ anyone. My son, facing a twelve feet _troll_ to save a girl. A troll! A freaking troll! In the school! Granted, Voldemort let it inside, but still, what were you esteemed professors doing?"

Severus winced at the Dark Lord's name, but remained otherwise unresponsive.

"Anyway, no troll or possessed teacher this year and my son retreated to the kitchens to avoid the unwanted attention, so I decided to take a small detour and visit my old friend Severus. Guess what I found this time?" she asked sarcastically. "Another troll! A plastered one, to boot. Your colleagues and students are gathered in the Great Hall, celebrating, and here you are, all alone and drinking yourself under your workbench. At this rate, you'll empty two or three more bottles and fall unconscious, only to awaken tomorrow morning with a splitting headache and a monumental self-guilt that you'll angrily and unashamedly unleash on your students on Monday."

With a sigh, the dead witch knelt before the inebriated Head of Slytherin.

"What happened to you, Sev?" she whispered, her eyes gleaming with tears. "How can you act like James' little band of misfits at their worst and not resent yourself? How can you treat your students like your father treated you and not hate yourself, like you hated your father? What made this sweet, caring boy so bitter?"

That seemed to do the trick, if she were to trust his horrified expression. She probably could have slapped him with a fish that her old friend wouldn't have looked any more gobsmacked.

"But whatever it was, it just doesn't matter –" she sighed, shacking her head. "– because you're better than this. You don't have to be the man the world wants you to be."

Offering him a small smile, she pried the bottle from his shacking hand.

"So please, pull yourself together, okay? Not for me, but for Hogwarts, for your colleagues and students… for you."

Severus actually performed his first conscious motion since the beginning of this rather one-sided discussion and nodded ever so slightly.

"Thanks, Sev." beamed Lily, rising up.

Putting the bottle back in the nearby cabinet, she retrieved a hangover cure and put that in her old friend's empty hand.

Offering him one last smile, she made to leave, only to stop at the closed door and look back over her shoulder.

"By the way, I saw you talk with Septima Vector at breakfast." she smirked. "Seriously? The penury of dragon-based potion ingredients in Eastern Europe? Worst conversation starter _ever_. I can't decide if the poor girl looked more elated at the attention or mortified by the boring subject."

Lily was ashamed to admit that, if Severus hadn't been utterly and completely sloshed right now, she wouldn't have waited to be in the Chamber to burst out laughing at the astounded look he was giving her.

Containing a fit of giggles, she walked through the door and let her voice resonate around the room one final time.

"You'd better be courting her by next Halloween, or Merlin help me, I'll have to take… measures."

* * *

Septima had been enjoying her meal with the traditional glass of pumpkin juice when the impossible happened.

Severus Snape asked her something.

And it wasn't anything remotely close to his occasional 'Can you hand me this?' questions, nor anything about her classes or students. No, he actually had the gall to _ask her out_!

"Would you consider a cup of tea in my office?"

Okay, so he hadn't _'asked her out'_ asked her out, but it was close enough for the witch's brain to froze for half a second.

She just couldn't helped it, the manner in which he's said it may appear casual to most, but it betrayed his sudden nervousness to who truly knew him – and the witch definitely knew her colleague and former Housemate. – and she'd never seen anything even half as cute as a nervous Severus Snape.

"Yes!" she practically shouted, before coughing and repeating at a lower volume. "Huh… yes, I would love to."

"I guess I'll see you soon, then." smiled – not one of his trademarked smirk, an actual honest to Merlin smile. – Severus. "Excuse me."

The Arithmancy Professor could feel her cheeks heat up as she watched the wizard depart from the staff table.

"What the heck just happened?" asked Aurora, eyes wide in shock.

"Don't know." mumbled Septima.

Not that she had _anything_ against it, mind you.

"Me neither, but you know what, I don't care." beamed her friend. "You go girl."

"Sh... shut up!"

* * *

It wasn't that obvious for the student body, as she was among the few staff member attending breakfast first thing in the morning every single day of the year, but Minerva McGonagall did like to sleep in.

It was her Animagus nature speaking, the cat in her longing for relaxing snoozes under the morning sun, whereas her professionalism compelled her to wake up early.

And being woken up at 2 a.m. to answer a staff summon most certainly didn't match her definition of relaxing mused the Deputy Headmistress, sitting down in her designated seat as Albus conjuring more and more of them, their colleagues slowly invading his office.

Five minutes later, the entire staff was finally reunited when Severus and Septima entered, clad in... ostentatious Gryffindor red dress-robes.

Minerva inhaled sharply at what had to be the Weasley twins' latest prank, trying to contain a reflexive curse in Gaelic as whispers flew around the room.

"Thank you for joining us, Septima, Severus." smiled Albus, every hushered discussions dying simultaneously. "Please, sit down."

"Did we miss anything?" asked the Head of Slytherin… who didn't seem to mind his new wardrobe all that much and even seemed strangely relaxed...

"We were just starting. Now, I know it is quite early –" began the Headmaster, looking apologetic but ignoring the grumbles anyway. "– and that much like myself, most of you would prefer to be in bed, but Filius was adamant that I had to call an emergency session."

Eyebrows rose around the room.

The Animagus really hoped for the half-goblin that he had a good reason for this, because if it was just his old paranoia resurfacing, she wouldn't be held responsible for any damage she might cause him.

"I will thus cease the floor to our honored colleague, who will explain the reason behind this gathering." concluded her mentor. "Filius, if you would?"

"Thank you, Albus." nodded the Charm professor, rising from his chair. "First and foremost, let me apologize for shortening your nights, but it was imperative that I talked to you."

He then took a deep breath, a grave look, and delivered his bomb.

"Hogwarts Professors, Mediwitch, Caretaker, Keeper… we have failed one of our students." he sighed.

Cue gasps from almost everyone.

"Surely not." exclaimed Lockhart. "Hogwarts is the premiere magical school in the world, and as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, I can't in good conscience –"

Rubeus looked about ready to bash the man's head in. Minerva just tuned the idiot out.

"You dragged me outta bed 'cause of one of your 'Claws?" complained Argus vehemently. "Who was it, huh? Which one of those nasty lil' punks tried to –"

"Who?"

Poppy's voice was low, but its sharpness cut the babbling teacher and the caretaker mid-sentence and drew every eyes on her.

"Miss Lovegood." replied Filius.

Pandora and Xenophilius' daughter, first year in Ravenclaw remembered Minerva. The girl was eccentric but quite decent in Transfiguration, despite a tendency to… let's say 'interpret' the instructions.

She couldn't see how they could have failed her, but her colleague's blank face was telling her that she would find out soon enough.

"I knew it!" crowed Argus. "Bloody menace that one. Just last week, she dragged mud over the main staircase and when I tried to catch her, she threw lettuces at me. Don't know where she got them, but –"

"A most interesting young girl, yes." interrupted Albus, eyes twinkling briefly. "Now Filius, why would we have failed Miss Lovegood?"

A Head of House answered, but it wasn't Luna's.

"She's being bullied."

It took a few seconds for the audience's brains to register the words and a few more to understand their meaning. Then Hogwarts' entire staff turned toward Severus as one, with a massive shout of 'WHAAAAAT?'

"You knew?" asked the half-goblin, confirming his coworker's words.

"No, but I had my suspicions." recognized the Potion Master. "I must apologize for not sharing them with you."

"It's… no, it's not fine, but I understand." sighed the diminutive Professor. "I didn't see anything, despite being her Head of House. Even if you had told me, I somehow doubt I would have done any better."

"How did you find out?" asked Minerva, any remnant of sleep fading away at the seriousness of the situation.

"I've had a bad feeling for a couple of weeks now." said Filius. "Something felt… off."

Which explained why he'd seemed so nervous lately.

"So naturally, I thought 'Better safe than sorry.' and added a few detection wards around my office and the Ravenclaw Tower."

He marked a pause and scratched his head, looking slightly ashamed as he mumbled the rest.

"And the school's main entrances... and the main staircases... aaaand the Great Hall, the brooms' storeroom and every roof accesses I could find... and the entrances to all three other Common Rooms. Oh, and the border between the school and the Forbidden Forest."

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Head of Gryffindor found herself chuckling.

"The entire border." gasped Bathsheba in between laughs.

"You went a bit overboard, don't you think?" goodheartedly joked Septima.

"Indeed." nodded Severus, sharing a small smile with the witch.

Wait, what?

Minerva's eyes narrowed.

Surely those two weren't –

"Anyway –" coughed Filius, trying to regain some dignity and interrupting her train of thought. "– the gender ward in my girls' dorms triggered tonight and I ran into quite the situation."

Half the room blanched. The other half turned green.

"Merlin..." breathed Poppy, fearing the worst.

"No, no, it's nothing like that." hurried to correct the Charm Professor, seemingly realizing how his words could be misinterpreted. "Miss Lovegood is perfectly fine, I assure you. The young man I caught wasn't even anywhere near her dorm."

Minerva released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Who was it?" gravely questioned Albus, posture tensed yet visibly more relaxed than prior to the rectification. "How did he walked through your wards and what was he doing then, if not… What was he doing?"

The Head of Ravenclaw looked at his audience and, as a grin slowly formed on his lips, the Transfiguration Mistress suddenly understood that she'd been wrong before. Miss Lovegood's bullying hadn't been Filius' bomb.

"I don't know his real name, because he was wearing a cowled leather armor which magically obstructed his face, never used any wand I might recognize and the identification spells I cast turned out negative, when they didn't outright failed to work, but he introduced himself as Azra Nightwielder and I believe he is one of our students." answered the half-goblin, eyes shining with mischief. "I do know that he didn't walk pass the wards, but simply bypassed them. He did the same when he gave me the slip. As for what he was doing when I caught up to him, he was keeping himself occupied re-stealing Miss Lovegood's stolen possessions from her sleeping tormentors' trunks. I must sadly admit that the not-quite-stealthy resulting confrontation woke the four girls up, so I'm afraid that the school's rumor mill will soon work at full capacity."

 _This_ was a bomb.

* * *

A massive grin threatened to split Filius Flitwick's face in two as the office devolved further and further into pandemonium, but despite its scientifically-proven stress-relieving effect, the half-goblin tried his hardest not to simply burst into a fit of full-blown maniacal laughter.

He was mostly successful.

The startled yelp that escaped most of them when Albus finally resorted to his old concussive spells pushed him slightly over the edge and he snorted loudly.

"This is no laughing matter –" growled not the old benevolent grandfatherly Headmaster, but Albus Freaking Dumbledore, war hero and vanquisher of Grindelwald."– but neither is it time to panic like frightened pixies. Get a hold of yourselves."

Faced with the man's piercing gaze, the teachers and assorted staff members had no choice but to calm down. Nodding in satisfaction, Albus then leveled a furious look at the Head of Ravenclaw and barked two words in a venom-laced voice.

"Explain yourself!"

Filius was happy to oblige.

"I pretty much told you everything, Albus." he said. "I entered the Ravenclaw's female dorms, located the breached ward around one of the third-year's chamber and walked in on a male intruder wearing a concealing leather suit and looting Miss Edgecombe's trunk. As per school regulation, I immediately sent an incarcerate spell, which he effortlessly dodged, despite kneeling down and having his back turned to me."

Which had been _completely expected_ , after the acrobatic stunts Azra had pulled during their first two encounters.

"I obviously repeated my part and he did much the same, only breaking the rhythm after a minute or so to bat a stunning spell to the side with a nearby hand mirror."

Now _t_ _h_ _at_ had been a welcomed novelty for the retired duelist. Not many wizards and witches bothered to remember that a large majority of spells could be deflected by a reflective surface, and even less actually used it in combat.

"Sadly for Miss Chang, her mirror wasn't designed for such usage and promptly exploded. That woke her up, and her screams woke her roommates up." explained the annoyed half-goblin. "Fearing what he might do to potential witnesses, I threatened to stop holding back and switch to more harmful spells if he didn't surrender."

"And he didn't." understood Albus… or thought he'd understood.

"Oh, but he did." laughed the Charm Professor. "He stopped pirouetting, stood where I told him to and even let me cuff him. Then he asked why I was protecting bullies."

His mood turned somber at the thought.

"I asked him what he meant by that." he growled softly. "He just pointed at the pile he'd retrieved for the trunk and said Miss Lovegood's name. Miss Edgecombe's look told me the rest."

"So he talked to you." observed Albus. "Did you recognize his voice?"

Filius shook his head.

"It was magically altered."

And definitely smoother than during their second encounter, but Azra's abilities were unmistakable. The chance for the two events to be completely unrelated was so astronomically small that it was virtually nonexistent and the ex-duelist simply refused to believe that two separate and completely unrelated prodigies could roam the hallways at night, developing revolutionary spells repertoires.

"Yet you are convinced that he is a student."

"I'm positive." he nodded. "Otherwhise the school would have seen him as an intruder and the emergency defenses would have kicked in."

"I see..." mused the Headmaster, looking pensive.

"You said you had him cuffed... but how did he escaped then?" suddenly asked Minerva, looking quite frantic. "Surely you didn't –"

"Release him?" completed Filius. "No, but I thought about it."

"WHAT?" she yelled. "Why would you –"

"'I'm doing what you can't.'" he replied calmly, cutting her rant short. "Those were his exact words."

And hadn't it hurt to admit how true they were?

"I asked him why he'd decided to act in this fashion, instead of reporting the offense to a prefect or one of us, and that was his answer. 'I'm doing what you can't.'" repeated the Head of Ravenclaw. "And as much as it pains me to admit it, he's right. No Minerva, he is. The prefects know what happens around Hogwarts, but they will never truly be able to act objectively, because no matter how much we wish for the contrary, they remain subject to peer pressure. Mine knew of Miss Lovegood's predicament, they admitted so when I grilled them shortly before coming to Albus, but they never said anything before, because it was just a 'harmless prank' and because others would have judged them if they had reported it."

The Scottish witch's jaw hit the floor… most of the audience's followed.

The half-goblin was sympathetic, but that was only half the problem.

"They even talked about it at their latest assembly, but I'll bet my entire vault that none of your Prefects told you anything." he pressed. "Severus' and Pomona's neither, because they don't know how we'll react or if we'll react at all. We have the opposite problem, perfectly willing to fully use the powers of our position but far too detached from the student body and the gossips to solve this kind of situation when they arise."

"Are those still your words –" abruptly asked the Head of Slytherin. "– or are you back to quoting this… Azra Nightwielder, was it?"

"That's how he introduced himself and yes, I'm paraphrasing him." confirmed the Charm Professor. "But it changes nothing, his words ring true."

"Be that as it may, that person still broke several school rules and most assuredly a handful of ministry decrees, when a simple anonymous letter would have triggered an investigation and resulted in the exact same outcome." sighed Albus, massaging his brow with both hands to chase a headache. "I'll have to report his presence to the Board of Governors and have the DMLE issue an arrest warrant."

"I know, and so does he." nodded Filius. "He's more or less counting on it, actually."

"He's _what_?" chocked the Headmaster.

"He remarked that the Board was undermining every efforts you were trying to make in matters of safety regulation, because most of them have family members studying here." explained the ex-duelist. "Students who, more often not, are the ones caught severely breaking the rules and would then receive what their influential relatives see as unjust and inappropriate punishments."

That earned him several acquiescing nods, though some seemed more reluctant than others.

"Now, with an unknown wizard of unidentified lineage running around the school, the Board won't be able to ignore your demands." he concluded. "You'll get to reinforce the security, reactivate a couple of previously disabled wards, Madame Bones may even lend you a couple of Aurors… and since it won't do much to stop Azra, he'll just keep doing his thing, but the Board doesn't need to know that."

"Really? You've barely met him and you already trust his abilities that much?" asked Bathsheda, sounding extremely curious. "What did he do to impress you like that?"

"Nothing much." shrugged Filius. "He just removed in under two seconds the magic-inhibiting cuffs I'd put on him – without even looking at them, I might add, he was introducing himself at the time. – and apparated out of the room."

One, two…

"HE WHAT?!"

Most of the room had shouted, but the Arithmancy Professor's voice was clearly the loudest.

"That's impossible." stated Septima. "I had my students work on the school's anti-apparition ward's formula twice just this year and it was flawless."

"It hasn't changed." confirmed Filius, summoning a copy of said parchment from under his seat. "I checked, thrice."

"But… it would mean that…"

"Whatever he used wasn't apparition." he nodded, smirking.

The woman's eyes started to shine.

"What did it look like?" she asked enthusiastically. "Did it still looked like an apparition, or was is visibly different? Did you see, hear or smell anything peculiar? What about –"

"Septima, let him answer your first question before asking another." advised… Severus, of all people.

Had the wizard just _smiled_?

Had the witch just _blushed_?

Nope, he was imagining things… definitely imagining things.

"Sorry." she apologized. "So… what did it look like?"

"From what I saw, he just sank in his own shadow, as if it was a puddle of liquid." explained the half-goblin. "There was no distinctive sound or smell that I can recall."

"And none of your wards reacted to his departure?"

"Not any more than they reacted to his arrival, no. Whatever he does is beyond their ability to detect." he sighed. "If I had anchored the gender ward on the dorm's doors instead of the entire rooms, he wouldn't even have triggered them and his visit would have gone unnoticed by all but Miss Lovegood and her persecutors."

"Is it… wise then, to trust a security risk of this magnitude?" asked Severus. "How could we prevent him from ever abusing this ability, if absolutely nothing can detect or hinder him?"

Albus nodded, alongside most of the room's occupants.

Filius wondered if his colleagues realized that, trust or not, the security risk remained a student, one who wouldn't let himself be caught nor stopped by anything short of Hogwarts' complete closure.

And even then, he had his doubts.

"He already resorted to thievery." concurred Rowena. "What stops him from picking it as his favored career choice?"

"He did so to return her personal belongings to Miss Lovegood." countered Pomona, ever the supporting Hufflepuff. "Those are the actions of a man of justice, not one blinded by money."

"That he acted for the benefit of a fellow student this time doesn't meant that he will keep on doing so in the future." pointed out Albus, before sighing as he glanced at Severus. "But I suppose it would be quite hypocritical of me not to give him the benefice of the doubt."

The Headmaster's phoenix chose that moment to sing cheerfully and Filius had this odd fleeting idea that the bird somehow understood this entire situation better than them.

He quickly dismissed the ridiculous thought and focused back on Albus.

"I will write to the Board and the DMLE about this Azra Nightwielder. If he proves to be as benevolent as you seem to believe, we will accept a truce and not actively pursue him." decided the wizard. "I trust, Filius, that you warned the involved girls not to report anything?"

"I did." he confirmed. "But we should nonetheless inform the students of what actually transpired tonight. It would prevent incorrect retellings from spreading."

"I agree." nodded Albus. "The students have a right to know that they have a vigilante in their midst… and they may just help us monitor his whereabouts."

* * *

From his stationary position on a dusty shelf, an old Sorting Hat watched the meeting come to an end with an amused smirk.

He didn't know what sort of cataclysmic shenanigans Diggory and Potter would get themselves into next time, but he was looking forward to it.

He hadn't had that much fun in two centuries.


	8. Just A Spark

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

Many thanks to my beta readers: dexterZ, FrogGamer and Haën

 _Fire in the hole!_

* * *

Just A Spark

* * *

Tracey Davis had never been much of a morning person.

In fact, she absolutely detested, despised and hated morning persons… and mornings… and persons. The Slytherin didn't take shit from no one and a dark, bitter and too hot for anyone else cup of coffee was about the only things she could tolerate before 10 a.m. First coffee, then you could talk to her, unless you really _really_ wanted to meet the business end of her wand.

And seeing as Hogwarts only served coffee at breakfast on weekends, her Housemates had rapidly learned how irascible she could be.

"Freaking elves want me to turn dark from caffeine deprivation." grumbled the brunette, glaring at a pot of hot, steaming… milk, with cornflakes. "One of these days, I'll just lose it and AK the little buggers."

"You've got a problem." stated Blaise Zabini, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

"Yes, not enough coffee." she confirmed.

"You walked right into that one." chuckled Theodore Nott, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

The dark-skinned wizard sighed, nodded and returned to his toasts, Theo following suit. Tracey glanced at Daphne – who hadn't even deigned to react, knowing her friend all too well – shrugged and resumed glaring at her bowl of milk.

That's when things became interesting, a clinking noise echoing around the Great Hall.

"May I have your attention, please?" called a smiling Albus Dumbledore from the staff table, only stopping hitting his glass with a spoon when every single eye was fixed on him. "Thank you."

And suddenly, the smile was gone, the barmy old Headmaster seemingly replaced by… she didn't exactly know what, but it definitely was a lot more intimidating and honestly terrifying.

"I usually try to avoid feeding rumors and keep this sort of speech to a minimum –" he declared, each word a low rumble. "– but the staff and myself found it important to inform you of a new development."

His eyes swept the room, Tracey found herself gulping and shivering.

The rest of the school wasn't faring any better.

"Yesterday evening, Professor Flitwick discovered that one of his students was bullied by fellow Housemates… but the situation is now resolved and the offenders will be punished accordingly." he carried on, briefly glaring at the Ravenclaw table. "However, this incident revealed a more pressing and concerning issue."

The Headmaster – or whoever stood in his place right now – twisted his wand and green lights fell from the ceiling, coalescing in a perfectly opaque squared shape. An image slowly formed on the screen – the half-blood didn't have to be a Quidditch fan to recognize a TV – which soon shown an unidentifiable man in leather armor dodging volleys of spells in a 5 seconds loop.

Judging from the tiny arm and wand trailed on him, this scene came straight from Professor Flitwick's memory.

"Meet Azra Nightwielder." motioned Dumbledore. "Hogwarts student, thief and self-appointed vigilante."

What?

"His true name or actual motives are unknown, as is the true extend of his abilities, though he has already displayed high agility, keen spatial awareness, some skills in non-magical lock picking and seems to have created an unheard-of spell similar to apparition unhindered by the school wards."

"HE WHAT?!"

Yep, that was Granger.

"His presence has already been signaled to the Board of Governor and the school was given the green light to reinforce security." continued the Headmaster. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was also informed and Amelia Bones graciously lent us an Auror team. They will arrive later today and will now run their own patrols, in parallel to the prefects and Professors."

Several of her fellow Slytherins suddenly looked nervous.

"If you have any information about this individual, please report to your Head of House, and should you ever encounter him, I ask you to avoid unnecessary conflict and look for the nearest authority figure." concluded Dumbledore, dismissing the screen. "That will be all, you may return to your meal."

Tracey started to hyperventilate.

She didn't _want_ to return to her meal. She needed time, she needed to process this mess and –

"He knows something."

Daphne's familiar voice eased her panic attack and she looked at her friend.

"What?"

"Potter, he knows something." repeated the blonde, frowning at the Gryffindor table.

The brunette raised an eyebrow, glanced at the Boy-Who-Lived… turned back to her friend.

"I don't see it."

"Me neither." said Theo.

"He _does_ seem to be fighting a headache." noted Blaise. "But I think it has more to do with Granger talking his ears off than this whole Azra business."

"It's not a headache." insisted Daphne. "That's his 'I'm going to hurt someone.' face, the one he does whenever he so much as sees Malfoy."

When had the Slytherin Ice Queen become so knowledgeable about the Gryffindor Golden Boy's facial expressions?

"And that's enough for you to say he's Azra?" asked Blaise.

"I never said he was, Zabini." replied the witch, shaking her head. "But I believe he knows who is… or at least, has a pretty good idea. I think this Azra Nightwielder is responsible for Potter's strange behavior this year… probably gave him his second wand too. But he didn't warn him about being caught by the Professors and Dumbledore's speech took Potter by surprise, hence the 'Malfoy' face."

Tracey looked at her fellow Slytherins for a few seconds, silently contemplating Daphne's hypothesis.

"Okay, sounds plausible." she finally acknowledged with a nod.

"And absolutely unverifiable." sighed the dark-skinned wizard.

"Why?" wondered Theo, puzzled.

"Because we're trying to stay discreet." she deadpanned.

"And because walking up to Potter to ask if he can corroborate Greengrass' theory is _anything_ but discreet." added Blaise.

"Right." blushed the other wizard. "So… what do we do?"

"Nothing." affirmed Daphne. "We keep watching… wait for a slip-up."

"Daphne Greengrass, Fun Queen." joked Theo, grinning. "You need a boyfriend."

Tracey rolled her eyes when a jinx crossed the table and caught the wizard right between the eyes, making him yelp.

Daphne definitely needed a boyfriend, but he should have known better than to say it out loud.

* * *

In a dark, cold and secluded corner of the castle, a pair of fourth-year redheads by the names of Fred and George Weasley were fomenting terrible plots and giving birth to a dreadful conspiracy… or something.

Because although that's exactly what it looked like from the outside, they were in fact merely following the current trend and discussing this Azra character.

It wasn't surprising, the entire student body was talking about the guy, his abilities, his looks, his heroic or nefarious deeds – it was up for debate – and the twins had already heard a dozen crazy theories… which was an exploit by itself, since breakfast had barely ended twenty minutes ago.

Azra Nightwielder had lit up a flame in the heart of Hogwarts and it was spreading at the speed of gossip… but the brothers were certainly _not_ gossiping.

"He could be dangerous." observed one of them, like some sort of afterthought.

"He faced Flitwick and survived." snorted the other. "Dangerous would be an understatement."

Okay, there may be a tiny little bit of gossiping going on, but it was _relevant_ gossiping.

No, really, it was. They'd _totally_ isolated themselves to consider the guy's threat level, their next course of action and the potential usage of a certain tool of theirs.

"So, what do we do?" asked a Weasley, though exactly which one was something of an enigma.

"I don't know." shrugged the second, who went by George – or Fred, depending on the situation. "I mean, sure, we could look him up on the map, but…"

"Do we want to?" completed his brother.

"Exactly." he sighed.

Fine, so the Marauder's Map wasn't technically theirs, but nobody had complained when they'd nabbed it from Flinch's office during their first year, so… you could say that they were keeping it safe, sort of.

The map, though usually disguised as an inconspicuous page of perfectly blank parchment, actually combined high level Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and spellcraft to create what was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful piece of magic the twins had ever seen. It featured every single secret passageways in the castle, completed with their respective passwords, and could track any living person on school grounds in real time. Hell, even the school elves and the Headmaster's phoenix could show up on it, if you asked nicely.

That was another thing, whoever had charmed the map was clearly something of a genius, because it could somehow _hear_ its wielder and change its own parameters. It could zoom on a desired area, bookmark any name you made it focus on and offer the fastest itinerary to any given destination.

The twins couldn't help but wonder how long it would take them to identify Azra with it.

Were they even supposed to identify him? Did the guy actually deserve to be found?

Nothing was certain, but they'd heard that the bullied student was Luna Lovegood, Ginny's friend from next door.

Also, Lee Jordan had reported – which, granted, wasn't exactly an official quality label – that he'd heard from Angelina, who'd heard from a friend, who'd heard from her boyfriend, who'd heard from a roommate, who'd heard from his girlfriend, who'd heard from that blonde Ravenclaw Prefect, who'd heard from one of the bullies – _quod erat demonstrandum_ – that Azra had _supposedly_ been caught while attempting to return her stolen belongings to the young Ravenclaw.

Taking that into consideration, they were inclined to believe that the 'thief' was a good guy… but was he really, or was he just a nutjob with a leather fetish?

They didn't know.

"Me neither." suddenly singsonged a clear voice, startling them both.

Trying to calm their rapidly beating hearts, Gred and Forge turned to their unexpected audience and discovered it to be a flock of long blonde hair on top of a blue-trimmed Hogwarts robe.

"Luna?" exclaimed both twins in perfect unison.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. What was she doing here?

"It's actually kinda hard to know if someone's crazy." smiled the girl. "Especially when you're crazy."

"Huh..." they replied.

It wasn't much, but for a philosophical reflection like that, it remained by far the best answer.

"Do you… need something?" asked a perplexed Weasley.

"You're right, birds first, then we'll talk butterflies." approved – sort of. – the Ravenclaw, before pointing behind them. "And no, but he does."

Eyes widening, the brothers turned around for the second time and came face to face with… well, not the last person they'd expected to see – as of this morning, that was Azra – but it was pretty damn close.

"Diggory." they greeted him.

"Weasleys." he replied.

"Lovegood." beamed the girl, happily waving her arms as she moved over to the Hufflepuff.

"… right, that happened." swallowed Fred – who, at the moment, was either George or his brother – before banishing the event from his mind and turning to his fellow Quidditch player. "So, she says you need our help?"

"He does." confirmed the girl before Diggory even managed to open his mouth.

"And… how can we help you?" asked the redhead to the older wizard.

"By helping _Him_ who helped me who helps him." replied the witch, cutting her… friend… caretaker… whatever, she cut him off again.

So… Diggory needed help with _something_ and because he'd helped her with _another thing_ , she was returning the favor by introducing them?

"Lunaaa." stretched the fifth-year.

"Present."

He started to massage his brow with both hands.

"Can you just... let me handle this?" he asked, his patience running thin. "Please?"

"I can do that." she smiled, before turning to the Gryffindors. "Okay, Cedric will ask you about that discreet place without any passage whatsoever he wants to store a hazardous and potentially lethal magical construct into himself."

Three jaws dropped.

"Have fun." she saluted, rapidly dancing away.

"LUNA!"

She stopped mid-step.

"Yeeeeees?"

"What in Oblivion was that?" growled the Prefect, completely ignoring the two onlookers whose brains were desperately trying to catch up.

"A waltz."

"…"

"They can help you." shrugged the girl. "Besides, _He_ finds them interesting."

A cold – and strangely foreboding – shiver traveled down the brothers' spines.

"Oh god."

Diggory's brief yet highly horrified expression didn't exactly reassure them either.

"Fine." nodded the Hufflepuff after several tense seconds, looking dejected. "Just… warn me next time."

"Okay!" beamed the Ravenclaw, dancing away as she resumed her movement.

"No, I didn't mean –" panicked the wizard, only to see her disappeared down a staircase. "Great, now there's going to be a next time."

Shaking his head, he focused back on the Weasleys, only to receive twin quizzical looks.

"And I'm supposed to be lucky." he commented absentmindedly. "I hate my life."

"So… hazardous lethal magical construct." repeated a redhead.

" _Potentially_ lethal." awkwardly pointed out Diggory. "And it's more like a memorial."

"Right… sorry." coughed the younger wizard.

Time flew by.

Somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, a Thestral neighed.

"Just… ask your damn questions." sighed the fifth-year.

The twins exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

"Thanks, but –"

"we'd rather not."

He stared at them for a moment, stunned disbelief etched on his face.

"Seriously?" he then exclaimed. "You're shocked when Lovegood acts like a five years old, but you're not gonna bat an eye at 'hazardous and potentially lethal magical memorial'?"

"The less we know, the better." they replied, impassive.

Because if they had no tangible evidences, they could state in all honesty that they didn't know anything.

Plus, between what they'd heard, seen and pieced together, they could already picture his answers… most of them anyway.

"… all right, never mind." he accepted. "Can you help me or not?"

"We can't help you." came the grim reply, immediately followed by mischievous half-grins. "But nothing is stopping use from giving our baby sister's best friend a hand. So, someplace discreet, right? But still accessible?"

A nod.

"Can you move the… memorial, in a hurry?"

"No."

"Then the castle's out."

"What, you don't have any long-abandoned classroom lying around?" asked Diggory, eyebrow rising.

"That's the thing, they're never abandoned." explained a twin.

"CatGonagall extends her patrol once a month." added the other, shaking his head. "And the school elves pop around at irregular intervals."

The older wizard frowned.

"I thought you had a workshop?"

"We do."

"A _mobile_ one."

Both twins patted their robes – and the hidden, magically-extended pockets they'd sewed there.

"Great." sighed Diggory, scratching his head. "Back to square one."

"We never said that." they refuted.

"We only excluded the castle."

"But… there's one place."

The Hufflepuff immediately looked intrigued.

"It's out of the way –"

"mostly quiet –"

"can be accessed from the school grounds through a secured passage –"

"and is just about the most haunted place in the history of Hogsmeade."

"The Shrieking Shack." understood the Prefect.

"The Shrieking Shack." they confirmed. "Universally avoided by anyone in Magical Britain."

"And their mothers."

"Which is pretty stupid, when you consider that the school is _already_ haunted."

"But what do you want? Common sense sadly ain't all that common."

Diggory nodded before closed his eyes, obviously contemplating their offer.

"Where's that passage?" he asked after a brief silence.

"Under the Whomping Willow."

Which was convenient to defend the hidden access… or train oneself to avoid deathly blows.

"And if I don't want to get flattened?"

"Dodge?" advised Gred.

"Or hit the knot on the trunk, by the tunnel." offered Forge. "It stuns the tree for a few seconds."

"Good to know." nodded the fifth-year. "Is there an attic or a cellar?"

"Cellar."

Perfect to store perishable foods, wine bottles or dangerous magical artifacts.

"Same surface area as the house?"

"No." a twin shook his head. "Only twenty square meters or so. Ceiling height of… two meters, I think?"

"But _Expansion Charms_ are your best friends." added the other.

" _Capacious extremis_ , right?" checked the Hufflepuff, receiving a nod in response.

That he knew this spell wasn't much of a surprise.

Sure, it _was_ heavily controlled by the Ministry of Magic, but they'd managed to learn it years ago when they'd helped their father tinker with the Ford Anglia, so…

"I'll have to make some tests..." mused the older wizard, before smiling. "But assuming I don't blow the place up, I'll definitely owe you one."

"You're welcome." answered the slightly nervous Gryffindors.

They weren't exactly thrilled about being owed anything by someone who was casually talking about blowing up buildings, but seeing as the guy was casually talking about blowing up buildings, it wouldn't do to be impolite.

Thanking them again, Diggory quickly shook their hands and left them to their reflections.

"We're never going back to that shack." declared a Weasley, watching who he could only assume was Azra Nightwielder depart.

"Agreed." seconded his brother.

* * *

Penelope Clearwater, sixth-year Ravenclaw Prefect, was a girl on a mission.

She was to inform Professor McGonagall that her Head of House had estimated a completely unreal workload of about ten hours simply to upgrade every existing ward around Ravenclaw Tower, not to mention the additional five or so hours of intense spellcasting he would then need to bring the security standard to an _acceptable_ level – which was astronomically high.

And that was _with_ Professor Vector's assistance.

As such, he wouldn't be able to work on the Gryffindor Common Room until the day after that, once his House would be properly warded and going through a second inspection, this time by Professor Babbling, who would be apposing defensive runes all over the place – and, thanks Merlin, wouldn't need him.

It was strange, mused the blonde witch, how such a simple message could reassure her. It was nice to know that the teachers were doing everything they could to catch that maniac and… wait, what was that n–

" _...arda._ "

A door was violently blasted from its hinges some mere three meters before the witch, the explosion sending it crashing into the opposite wall. Splinters and volutes of dust rapidly spread across the deserted hallway and the incredulous Prefect was forced to blink and flinch when some got in her eyes.

It definitely had nothing to do with Harry Potter, exiting what had once been a broom closet, wands held in clenched hands and a look screaming bloody murder on his face.

"I'm going to _strangle_ Lovegood." panted the wizard, robes singed and fuming.

Absolutely nothing.

It was her version and she was sticking to it.

* * *

Cedric Diggory was sedately staggering his way to the Great Hall, having sweated – and bled – all afternoon to expend the Shrieking Shack's basement and by now positively _starving_ , when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and dragged him in an unused classroom.

Now, the wizard may be exhausted, but let it never be said that a Nightingale couldn't defend himself at any given time and under any circumstances.

Using a touch of shadow manipulation, his wand left his inner breast pocket and reappeared in his hand. Quick, efficient and a lot more discreet than any dagger he could have conjured.

The next sequence of events was pretty obvious: grab arm, twist arm, jab magical focus against assailant's jugular.

Then it was just a matter of asking the right questions and shooting the guy – or gal – though not necessarily in this order.

But of course, things didn't go as planned. His shoulder was abruptly released, his wand batted to the side and an angry index pointed straight at him.

"Exactly what sort of stupid, imbecilic, retarded thought went through that thick things you call a skull to somehow convince you that letting yourself get caught by Flitwick was a good idea?"

Cedric pondered that, despite bloodier end results, conjuring a dagger would have spared his eardrums.

"I'm tired, Potter, just like you were tired when you were studying those daedric treaties of yours." groaned the Hufflepuff. "So please, let me eat first and then I'll deal with whatever shit you clearly want to unload on me."

"Fine, be in the kitchen in an hour." Mora's contractor harrumphed unhappily, though it was unclear if it came from reporting their meeting or letting him have this one.

"Thank you… and for your information, I didn't let him catch me, he _actually_ took me by surprise."

The instant it left his mouth, Cedric knew he'd made a mistake.

What was it with him and speaking too fast today? First Luna, now Potter, was it becoming a thing?

But instead of the mocking commentary he'd expected, on how the legendary Nightingales' reputation had to be greatly exaggerated if they could be surprised that easily by a mere mortal, Potter sent an understanding, almost respectful nod his way.

Okay, they _really_ had to talk.

* * *

"Let me get this straight." began Harry, barely containing a smile. "You shadow-stepped all the way to the Ravenclaw Common Room, bypassed the thirty or so defensive measures around the place, sneaked into a third-year girls' dormitory, unlocked each of the four room occupant's trunks… and got busted by a gender-based detection ward?"

At the Nightingale's embarrassed nod, he erupted in a burst of laughter.

Diggory's forehead soundly met the table.

"Sure, laugh it up." he groaned. "I had to play 'dodge the curse' with a bloody Master Dueler, but that doesn't matter, does it? No, the important thing is that you find it entertaining."

"In my defense, it _is_ prettyentertaining." smirked Harry. "But seriously, those were some sweet moves back there. Especially liked the side flip."

Diggory had already been pretty fit and nimble, thanks to his position on the Hufflepuff's Quidditch Team, but those evasions had been surreal.

He didn't know what sort of training regimen from hell Nocturnal had subjected her Nightingale to, but the results were clearly showing.

"… thanks."

"You're welcome." said the Gryffindor. "Now, care to explain what you were doing in that tower?"

"I was giving Lovegood a hand with some _misplaced_ properties." answered the older wizard.

"Wait, so she really was the bullied student?" asked Harry, startled. "Ginny mentioned it earlier, but I thought it was just a silly rumor. I mean, who would be crazy enough to go against the Mad God's protege?"

"Anyone not knowing the slightest thing about Daedric Princes and finding Lovegood's unique behavior offensive?" replied Cedric, smirking.

Now, it may seem strange for the two contractors to discuss daedric matters so openly in a kitchen filled by hundreds of house elves, but some snooping around had revealed that the Headmaster had only instructed the little workers to look around for Azra Nightwielder, meaning that as long as none of them outrightly admitted to being Azra, the elves wouldn't report squat.

And contrarily to _someone_ , Harry would never claim to be the legendary Nirnian Archmage behind Shadow Magic. What had gone through Diggory's head when he'd chosen to borrow that name, he couldn't begin to fathom.

"The two of us may see her as Luna Lovegood, sole daughter of Duchess Pandora Lovegood of Mania, but the school only sees Loony Lovegood, crazy daughter of the even crazier Quibbler Redactor Xenophilius Lovegood." added the thief. "While we know that going against her goes way past retarded and straight into suicidal territory, the others underestimate her and ignore that they're possibly one 'Loony' away from being smitten by Sheogorath's demented fury."

"Ignorant idiots." grumbled Harry.

"Most assuredly." nodded the Hufflepuff. "But on the plus side, they don't have to worry about her daily antics… or yours, for that matter. Seriously Potter, using a _Bombarda_ indoors is highly irresponsible and you totally deserve that detention."

"Lovegood locked me up in a bloody closet." hissed the second-year. " _Alohomora_ didn't work, _Portaberto_ didn't work, _Open Sesame_ didn't work, the Nirnian spell _Open_ – which I paid for and learnt on the fly – didn't work. I had to use _Oak_ _f_ _lesh_ and dual-cast _Bombarda_ six times in a row to blast that freaking door of its hinges, so screw you."

"I rest my case."

Harry glared at the Nightingale, trying to convince himself that sending a _Lightning Bolt_ at the older wizard wasn't the proper course of action.

Sadly, he succeeded.

"Why did you get involved anyway?" he asked in a sigh. "Lovegood wasn't up for a little breaking and entering?"

"No, because retrieving her belongings would have upset the other girls and she didn't want to hurt their feelings." sighed the fifth-year. "Sheogorath didn't see it that way though. He hijacked the mental link I share with Lady Nocturnal –"

"Yeah, he does that sometimes."

"– and asked me to _'help Luna and that stupidly optimistic forgiveness of hers'_. Yes, that's a direct quote."

"And you agreed?" snorted the second-year

"And you wouldn't have?"

"… touché." he acknowledged. "Still, you help him and it gets you exposed to the entire castle. Hardly seems fair, plus I can't see Nocturnal enjoying such a public uncover."

"We knew it was bound to happen." replied Diggory, shaking his head. "I haven't received any formal Nightingale training yet… other than the very basic stuff, I mean. I probably won't be properly trained for a couple of months still, and that's assuming I manage to build Lady Nocturnal's altar without blowing myself up."

At Harry's quizzical look, the Nightingale explained how the location he'd found seemed promising, but would require an expansion charm that may or may not react badly to daedric energy.

"Oh, so you finally found a place?" said the Gryffindor. "Where is it?"

"The Shrieking Shack."

"That's the haunted house over in Hogsmeade, right? Why there?"

"People avoid it, mainly." shrugged the Hufflepuff. "Also, it has a secret back entrance that leads to the school grounds."

"Yeah, I can see how that would be appealing." stated the second-year. "How did you find out about it?"

"You could say it was Sheogorath's reward." replied Diggory. "He had Luna drag me and blur my problem to the Weasley Twins right after breakfast. Apparently, they're _interesting…_ I know, it scares me too."

At that instant, Harry determined two things.

Firstly, that the blonde witch had most assuredly stuffed him into that freaking closet to give the Nightingale enough time to discuss with the twins.

Secondly, that he was now feeling a sudden and unexplainable urge to lock himself up in the Chamber of Secret for the rest of his life. There, or anywhere else that was sufficiently secured and unattainable by Mad God-approved redheads.

"We're doomed." he whispered in a haunted voice.

"I wouldn't go _that_ far." coughed the thief. "Primarily because I don't want to jinx it."

He had a point.

"Anyway, I expanded and consecrated the cellar." explained the Nightingale. "I'll monitor the place for a couple of days and depending on how things go, I may be able to start working on the altar in a week or two."

"You'll love it." smiled the Gryffindor. "It's horribly long, frustrating, exhausting and you'll definitely loose a few gallons of blood."

"Looking forward to it." grimaced Diggory.

"I don't doubt it." smirked Harry. "Now, about my cloak…"

* * *

Septima Vector was a brilliant witch.

Former Slytherin, mathematical prodigy, Arithmancy Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Septima Vector was also a very tired witch, but warding four Common Rooms in as many days had that effect on people.

They had begun with Ravenclaw Tower, easily the simplest of the bunch, Filius having already enhanced the place over the past two weeks.

Then had come Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, who'd needed a few extra hours of dedication.

Today was Slytherin, and Merlin was it daunting.

The dorms had been covered in an amalgam of light, greyish and borderline dark spells badly erected by the students over the last two decades or so – she'd found a few or hers, actually – and working on the wards proper had necessitated to bring the whole entangled mess down first.

Unsurprisingly, Severus' office had been about the only secured and tidy location over the entire dungeons.

With the area properly cleansed, they'd then got to work… that had been hours ago.

Distinguish the ward, identify the activation process, power up the enchantment, dust off the intersecting effects and cascading failsafes… it had been draining and she'd merely upgraded existing charms.

Filius was now installing his own brand of protections – the sort that gave a lesson in humility – and she couldn't help but admire her colleague's abilities.

Draw the ward, set the trigger mechanism, power the ward, fuse the ward to the Common Room's local scheme, tie that ensemble into the school proper… she may be the most knowledgeable witch around when it came to designing or redesigning spells, but the half-goblin was assuredly the school's foremost expert on wards.

The Arithmancy Professor was watching the Head of Ravenclaw enter his third chained sequence – how he could cast for dozens of minutes on end like that, she had no idea – when an appreciating whistle made her ready her wand and face… an empty corridor.

" _ **Damn, those look good even half-finished."**_ jovially stated… the air, it seemed. _**"I should really look up wards, one of these days."**_

"Who's there?" growled Septima, going through a series of rapidly failing non-verbal revealing spells.

" _ **Just**_ _ **an innocent resear**_ _ **cher**_ _ **, doing some sightseeing."**_ replied the invisible individual, seemingly amused by her attempts.

"Azra." blurred Filius, still focusing on his spell-weaving – which was a good thing, seeing as that sort of incomplete ward could have deadly consequences if allowed to collapse.

" _ **Sorry to disappoint, but no."**_ refuted the being.

"WHAT?" exclaimed the two Professors.

" _ **I do know the jerk, though."**_ he – with a voice so deep, he had to be male – admitted. _**"**_ _ **You could say we are co-workers."**_

Oh Merlin, there were TWO of them?

"Filius, the ward." pressured Septima, seeing that her colleague had frozen.

"Right, sorry." nodded the Head of House, shaking himself out of his stupor.

Resuming his wand-waving – but switching to non-verbal casting whenever he could, so as to follow the discussion – he glanced at the empty hallway.

"Just an innocent researcher, was it?" he repeated. "You're the person I discovered two weeks ago?"

" _ **That was me."**_

"I see you fixed your problem." groaned the half-goblin. "I can't feel you anymore."

"You met him before?" asked the incredulous witch.

" _ **On Friday the 16**_ _ **th**_ _ **."**_ confirmed the presence. _**"Professor Flitwick cornered me during a patrol**_ _ **and tried to hand me**_ _ **over**_ _ **to the Headmaster**_ _ **.**_ _ **I found it prudent to excuse myself.**_ _ **"**_

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" she growled.

"Because he made me doubt." sighed Filius. "And because I didn't want to rouse the entire castle if he truly turned out to be sightseeing, like he claimed."

"That was your bad feeling." understood Septima. "You knew he was around and wanted to catch him red-handed."

He nodded.

" _ **Well, you got Azra** **instead."** _ observed the unseen student. **"W** _ **hich is a pretty good job,** **all things considered. H** **e's a slippery one."**_

"And a criminal, with whom you admitted working." added the witch, glaring at the barren hall as her wand started to shine. "What prevents me from stunning you, here and now?"

" _ **I have a shield spell activated."**_ replied the emptiness, sounding almost apologetic. _**"**_ _ **T**_ _ **hat, plus Azra has been teaching me how to Shadow Step. I'm not**_ _ **all that**_ _ **skilled at it, but I manage short distances just fine."**_

Shadow Step, it had to be the transportation spell she'd seen in Filius' memories. If she upped the game, he would use it and fade away.

She recognized a stalemate when she saw one.

"Alright, what do you want?" she asked, lowering her wand. "Why reveal yourself to us?"

" _ **I'm not revealing anything Professor Flitwick didn't know**_ _ **and**_ _ **you're**_ _ **something of a…**_ _ **calculated risk."**_ countered the air. _**"As for**_ _ **what I want, I will have to answer 'Nothing.'"**_

What?

" _ **I was just passing through when I saw you working on the Slytherin Common Room's entrance, and not greeting you would have been poor manners indeed."**_

Was that guy serious?

" _ **By the way, is that an intent ward, Professor?"**_ he asked. _**"I think I walked through one of those in the Headmaster's chamber."**_

"YOU WHAT?"

"Filius, the ward!"

The half-goblin, though visibly startled, focused back on what was indeed an intent ward.

"What were you doing in the Headmaster's chamber?" hissed Septima, wand glowing once again.

" _ **Oh, come on."**_ complained the invisible being. _**"Azra helps ONE student and you're ready to accept whatever plans he has for the school. I disarm TWO magical nukes and I get wands pointed at me? How's that fair?"**_

"… magical nukes?"

" _ **More like a category five creature and an extradimensional invasion, but nukes convey the message more clearly."**_

"Wha… what?" stammered the witch. "What is this nonsense?"

" _ **Ever heard the 'Tale of the Three Brothers'? The one where Death, outsmarted by mortals, decides to get even and grants them three magical items that will undoubtedly get them killed?"**_ he asked. _**"Well, the Headmaster had the wand."**_

Behind her, Filius cursed.

" _ **Anyway, it somehow awakened and began to call for its master, so I had to… redistribute it. And before you ask, yes, I provided a suitable replacement."**_ stated the unseen student. **_"I even have a witness."_**

And before she could even ask what he meant by that or if he hadn't inhaled large amount of poisonous fumes from failed experimental potions lately – which was the only suitable explanation for such a ludicrous story – he called his so-called witness.

" _ **Fawkes!"**_

Several tense seconds passed…

" _ **FAWKES!"**_

Still, nothing happened.

" _ **Fawkes, I swear on Arkay that if you're not here in ten seconds, I'm going to –"**_

The Arithmancy Professor found herself gasping as a burst of flames suddenly erupted in midair, the Headmaster's _bloody Phoenix_ appearing and flapping his burning wings a couple of times before settling down on what she assumed was the invisible being's shoulder.

Filius was, by now, rapidly muttering in his mother tongue.

" _ **What took you so long, you useless bird?"**_ asked the emptiness.

The legendary light bringer sang humorously.

"… _**you did that on purpose, didn't you?"**_ sighed the unseen being.

He was answered by another joyous cheep… and a beak to the head.

" _ **Dammit!"**_ he cursed, earning himself a second round. _**"Aaah, stop pecking me."**_

Septima didn't know what to make of the scene.

On one hand, the Phoenix _had_ answered the call and didn't seem particularly threatened, which probably meant that the invisible student wasn't dark.

On the other, he had voluntarily delayed his arrival and was now taunting him by way of mocking trills and sharp beak to the head.

" _ **Okay, you had your fun."**_ groaned the air. **_"Can you help me now? Those two won't believe that your master's waaAAHH, dammit!"_**

The bird chirped.

" _ **Fine, that your**_ **companion** ** _'s wand – there, happy? – was dangerous. Care to back me up?"_**

Fawkes nodded and began to sing. No trace of mischief this time, the musical notes were pure and sang to the heart as much as the ears.

And when they finally stopped, witch and wizard were somehow convinced of the unseen being's truthfulness.

" _ **Thank you."**_

The Phoenix trilled softly and took flight, before flaming away.

Septima drew a deep breath.

"Okay… you're telling the truth." she conceded. "Even if it sounds completely ridiculous."

" _ **Fact is stranger than fiction."**_ he replied. _**"Way**_ **way** ** _stranger."_**

"What about the class five creature?" inquired Filius, who'd apparently ceased to swear in Gobbledegook. "What happened to it?"

 _ **"** **Relocated to a secured location and as far away from human beings as physically possible."**_ answered their mysterious benefactor. **_"It won't be seen again anytime soon."_**

"Thank you." nodded the half-goblin.

 _ **"You're welcome."**_ replied the invisible being. ** _"Now if you'll excuse me, I'll resume my sightseeing and take a look at the Slytherin's dorms."_**

"NO!" shouted the witch. "Incomplete intent wards are extremely fragile, the slightest perturbation could bring them down and –"

 _ **"I'm pretty sure that I can walk through those."**_ he interrupted. **_"But if it reassures you, I'll just use the service entrance."_**

"What service –"

That's when he chose to blow their mind a little further by hissing at the wall, the castle happily opening a hidden access for the newly identified _Parselmouth!_

 _ **"See you around."**_ he called, disappearing into the passage. **_"Good luck with your wards."_**

And before either of the Professors could do anything else than dumbly stare in utter disbelief, the revealed entrance shut close.

Septima Vector was definitely a very _very_ tired witch.


	9. White Rabbit

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _So what if I'm crazy? All the best people are._

* * *

White Rabbit

* * *

It was the evening of November, Saturday the 7th. Hidden away in the dank and bleak dungeons – a dreadful place seemingly hostile to life itself and haunted by the largest, meanest chiropteran to ever walk the earth – Draco Malfoy was staring intently at his notebook, trying to comprehend the heck out of it with his most dignified pureblood frown.

It failed miserably, the diary remaining stubbornly obscure. It left him somewhat annoyed.

Half an hour ago, the blonde had retired to his room to fill his daily entry, something he always did with the utmost care and dedication. No, it certainly _wasn't_ a diary. Shut up. It was a black book, thank you very much. His father had long since instilled in him that documenting everyday experiences and findings, no matter how insignificant, could very well prove extremely useful someday, for hardcore negotiations – read _blackmail_.

Today, his entry read like so:

" _November, Saturday the 7_ _th_ _, the Quidditch game was absolutely useless! Gryffindor won the match, Saint Potter beat me to the Snitch by at most a second… but in doing so, he fell from his broom, broke his arm and had it deboned by that incompetent twat Lockhart. Scarhead was then sent to the hospital wing to get his bones regrown, which, from what father told me, is quite hurtful. So I suppose it wasn't all that bad, in a way."_

What had him frowning at the book though, wasn't his own report, but the unusual response underneath.

" _Keep writing simpleton, confess more unto me. Feed me your thoughts and feelings, pour your everything into your laments. Soon, you will be mine, in mind and body. Soon, you will cease to be and Lord Voldemort will rise, stronger than ever. Write for me, little puppet. Write… and die."_

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Lucius Malfoy jerked awake in his private office, screaming his head out. His vocal cords were left raw from the strain, his entire body covered in sweat and his heart hammering in his chest.

He'd fallen asleep and that accursed nightmare had returned.

His son, writing in a diary. A diary that had, at one point, been offered to the Malfoy Patriarch by the Dark Lord himself, with the express instruction to keep it and the deathly weapon it contained secured at all costs. A diary Lucius had foolishly handed to his Lord's bane, in the hope that it would utterly destroy Potter.

But the artifact was now destroying him, punishing him at his Lord's behest for failing his mission.

Whenever his eyes closed, he was shown his son employing the journal he should have protected. He was forced to watch, dread clawing at his throat, as the pages' increasingly ravening replies promised his only son's death, mercilessly robbing him of his sleep and sanity.

He _knew_ that Draco had retained the diary 'Cissa had got him for his birthday. His old friend Severus, surprised as he'd been at this request, had confirmed so personally. Which meant that the Dark Lord's notebook was in Potter's hands still and Draco had absolutely nothing to fear… yet, the _frighteningly vivid_ nightmares lingered, no matter how many doses of Dreamless Draught he ingested.

Good thing he didn't _need_ to sleep then. Sleeping would just invite the nightmares back. No, he needed the diary to appease his master. He just had to recover it discreetly and he would be back in his Lord's good graces.

Fighting against exhaustion, Lucius returned to his plotting. This time, _this time_ , he wouldn't fail.

The worn-out wizard passed out three minutes twelve seconds later, nightmares assaulting his fragile psyche.

* * *

Contrarily to what most of Hogwarts' inhabitants believed, Severus Snape wasn't a giant bat in disguise. He hadn't been born in a cave, didn't need to drink blood every other night to survive and most definitely didn't sleep hanging upside-down from his private lab's ceiling. As an actual full-fledged human being, he was thus quite capable of expressing a wider range of emotions than the usual disdain he harbored for the dunderheads that called themselves students, even if he would never do so publicly.

Though, admittedly, he'd felt more things that past week than over the entirety of the last decade.

Lily's threats had always had that effect on people.

Amusement was quite frequent, usually at the students' expense. His prefects' latest report, for example, had been positively hilarious. Apparently, a room in the Slytherin's fifth year dorms had suddenly disapproved of one of its occupants – hardly surprising, the youngster was pure Death Eater material – and decided to relocate his bed and earthly possessions to an isolated cell, on the other side of the dungeons.

Happiness… well, he was courting Septima, who had that well covered.

Confusion and worry were less welcomed emotions, but more common by the day – along with a healthy dose of awe – what's with the thief prowling unhindered around school, using original spells, liberating forbidden items from students and delivering them to their concerned Head of House.

The Potion Master was also absolutely, positively, entirely, totally and completely exasperated of seeing his dates with Septima systematically interrupted by the school's elves for the flimsiest of reasons. The Weasley twins had paid the little buggers, he would bet his best cauldron on it.

But if there was one feeling Severus wouldn't have mind leaving in the past – preferably locked away in a safe dumped in a reasonably secure place, like the Marianas' Trench – it was fear.

Fear had plagued his youth, his time as a Death Eater, his time as a spy. And today, for the first time in many, many years, Severus Snape was afraid once more.

When he'd received a high-priority floo call from Narcissa, asking for his help, he'd promptly placed stasis charms on his brewing potions, crossed through the flames and got treated to the sight of an almost unrecognizable witch. The always proper, always refined Lady Malfoy nee Black had been a sight to see, exhibiting untidy hair, unkempt robes, trembling hands and eyes red from an untold amount of crying that had left countless tear-stains streaking down her cheeks.

And as if her appearance itself hadn't been enough, the broken-looking blonde had lost no time and thrown herself at Severus, holding him as one would a life jacket, dry sobs rocking her body in random bursts.

The Head of Slytherin had let her cry.

"Thank you… for coming." she'd finally whispered, an eternity later. "I… I didn't know who else to call."

"Anytime."

Narcissa had looked up at the Hogwarts Professor and smiled tiredly at the sincerity in his voice.

The smile had swiftly vanished as a sob had escaped her.

"I'm scared, Severus." she'd admitted, still not letting go of his robes. "Lucius... he's been having nightmares, recurring ones, and hasn't slept properly since Thursday. Even Dreamless Draught didn't help."

Understandingly, the Potion Master had frowned.

Dreamless Draught was a powerful mixture, only topped by the infamous Draught of Living Death, in that the consumer of the second was rendered unable to wake up by himself. Lucius' nightmares would have had to be fueled by some deeply ingrained fears or extremely potent magic to completely nullify the beverage.

"He's been getting restless." had continued his childhood friend, her voice wavering. "He locked himself in his study, refuses to come out and his eyes…"

His eyes? What did his eyes have to do with anything? he'd wondered.

"He has the same look as he did back _then_." she'd answered his silent inquiry.

Severus had inhaled sharply at her words, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm – and the brand of his mistakes.

That had been… extremely concerning.

"I'll… I'll talk to him." he'd tried to reassure her – and himself, to be honest. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Judging by the weary smile she'd offered him, he'd only partially succeeded.

"... do you think you could make us some tea?" he'd asked then, hoping to occupy her mind while he talked with Lucius. "I would… appreciate a cup, right about now."

Truth be told, he would have preferred a glass of firewhisky, but Lily's visit was still fresh in his mind and he hadn't feel like tempting the devil.

Narcissa had nodded mutely, _finally_ releasing his robes and promptly slipping into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the Manor's lobby with fears he'd thought he'd left behind years ago.

What sort of mess had Lucius put himself into to fall back to a psychological state he'd only ever had during their time as Death Eaters?

Gathering his courage and ignoring the mute pounding threatening to split his skull, Severus walked deeper into the mansion, up to Lucius' office. But how to deal with his troubled and troublesome friend?

First step, check the door for defenses. If Lucius truly was as distressed as his wife made him sound to be, the Potion Master wouldn't put it past him to spell a lung-shredding curse or two unto the door knob.

His wand dropped in his hand and he waved it around, mismatched glows soon displaying the answers he sought. Blood-boiling, entrails-expelling, bones-vanishing, flesh-flailing, eyes-melting… dreadfully unoriginal, but it would do the job. Now, he could simply disable them, but Lucius would probably think himself under attack and retaliate blindly through the panel without so much as checking his _opponent_ 's identity. He couldn't exactly trigger the spells either, seeing as he valued his life. Leaving him with only one solution.

" _Expecto Patronum_." whispered the Head of House, sending his distinctive doe Patronus through the wall, straight into the office.

In moments, the lethal spells faded and Lucius threw the door open, unceremoniously grabbing Severus by the arm and dragging him inside, the door sealing shut behind them. While Hogwarts' Potion Professor hadn't exactly expected to be manhandled so roughly, he still recovered in time to study the Malfoy Patriarch as he frenetically reset the many defenses he'd just taken down.

Unkempt hair, untidy clothes, trembling hands … his friend was in much the same state as his wife, though he'd traded her tear-tracked eyes for ones showing exactly how little sleep he'd got lately. Suffice to say, the deep rings under them could just as well have been trenches.

"Severus, I need your help." said Lucius the instant he completed the wards. "I made a mistake, a gigantic mistake, and he's punishing me for it. Our… our Lord, he gave me a book –"

A certain floo call they'd had on Thursday about some journal suddenly came back to mind.

"– said it was a weapon, asked me to protect it. But I didn't. I didn't and it's gone. Draco has it now and it's after him."

Seeing his own flesh and blood targeted by the Dark Lord would certainly explain the inability to sleep. But where were those nightmares coming from? Was the book cursed in any way? Who was he kidding, it belonged to the Dark Lord, _of course_ it was cursed.

Though, if it truly was in Draco's possession like his friend seemed to think, how could it possibly affect him?

Looking for answers and taking full advantage of Lucius' distracted state, the Potion Master discreetly grabbed his wand and cast silent diagnostic spells.

"You have to protect him, Severus." begged his friend, just as the scan's results registered on his wand. "Promise me you'll protect him!"

The diagnostic was inconclusive, showing no sign of residual curses, hexes or even mind-altering contact potions that could have been on the diary. Meaning that one, the artifact's influence was beyond the spells' ability to detect, or two, the artifact had no effect whatsoever and his friend was genuinely going crazy with paranoia.

Seeing as they were talking about the Dark Lord's book, the first option was all but guaranteed.

"I understand, Lucius." he replied, trying to calm the distressed man. "I'll protect Draco."

He just had to figure out _how_.

If the diary could drive Lucius to insanity from Hogwarts, taking it away from Draco probably wouldn't help. Destroying it would definitely harm his position as a spy, if – _when_ , Albus would say – the Dark Lord resurfaced. Sealing it away remained the only viable solution… and one he had absolutely no idea how to even approach. Perhaps the library would have some answers for him? Or one of his colleagues?

But those were problems for another day, he had to find the journal first.

"You believe Draco has this book, right?"

"I… I don't know. He claims he doesn't, but I _kno_ w it's in the castle, seeking him. I see it every night, again and again. It wants to use Draco, Severus. Against himself. Against me."

 _The diary_ was seeking him… right. Anyway, he was certain that his godson had been diary-free on Thursday, seeing as he'd thoroughly searched his belongings. He couldn't have retrieved it since then either, with the dozens upon dozens of protections Filius, Septima and Bathsheba had erected around the Common Rooms. The wards and runes schemes were beautifully designed and would have definitely reacted to such a dark artifact crossing their threshold.

Either the diary _was_ still in the Slytherin dorms, except in the hands of another student, or it simply was in another part of the castle entirely. He just had to figure out _where._

"So, he may not have it yet… but you are positive it is in the castle."

The Malfoy Patriarch nodded guiltily.

"Yes, I… tricked a student into bringing it inside."

Severus frowned.

Lucius sounded almost… afraid. More so than before, that is.

"Which student?"

The way his eardrums seemingly burst mutely and his friend's face twisted into a grimace, he instantly knew he wouldn't like the answer one bit.

"… Harry Potter."

Called it.

Lily would positively _murder_ him.

* * *

Blaise put down his fork and stared at the bird fluttering and chirping enthusiastically on his plate… or as enthusiastically as mute and seemingly-sentient shadow animals could be. It opened its beak, tilted its head, made all the necessary motions, but remained disturbingly silent.

Ever since the Headmaster had revealed his presence, Azra's immaterial… construct, he supposed, had shown up at every single meal, flying around the Great Hall, annoying students, professors and Aurors alike. It was the first time Blaise managed to see it from up close though.

Most of everything had been done to it, from physical interactions to charms, curses, even erecting wards around it and dousing it with potions. Lacking a physical body, the bird had shrugged most of it off and reformed instantly the few times it had actually been disturbed.

Now, how should he contribute to the ongoing research? What to do, what to do?

Before he could settle on a spell to use however, the Headmaster called for silence in his usual fashion. Blaise exchanged a quick look with Daphne, Theo and Tracey, the latter freshly out of her Sunday-morning caffeine-induced trance. If the last time their breakfast had been interrupted like that had been any indication, this was going to be important.

"Students, as you all know, the defenses around all Common Rooms have been reinforced over the last week to prevent further incursions from Mr. Nightwalker." began the old wizard. "In order to alleviate any concern the Ministry may voice in regard to the efficiency of those protections, a live-test will be conducted today by a qualified member of the staff. Your dorms will be locked for the duration of the exercise and you are consecutively invited to gather all your supplies for the day immediately after breakfast and avoid the Common Rooms' vicinity until they are cleared for occupation again. Thank you for your attention and have a good day".

The Slytherin snorted at the Ministry's naivete and the efficiency with which the Headmaster was playing them. If the staff and an entire contingent of Auror couldn't stop a conjured bird from attending their meals, there was no way they would manage to stop the conjurer with a few wards and extended patrols. The ancient wizard obviously understood this and was either condoning Azra's actions or downright working with him, shamelessly using the thief's presence as an excuse to secure the school from basically everything _but_ him.

Blaise would pay a hefty sum of money to watch Fudge's face when he would figure it out. The Governors' too.

Not _his_ money, mind you. That wouldn't be very Slytherin.

* * *

"Point me." asked Severus Snape again, following his wand's instructions as it spun toward a nearby trunk.

Accessing the empty Gryffindor Tower had been trivial for the Head of Slytherin, merely requiring a quarter-hour long discussion to convince Albus that the Ministry would back off if presented with a report validating the school's new protections. As the only registered Defense Master in residence and someone with quite the extensive expertise in the Dark Arts, he'd naturally been tasked with doing the actual testing. From there, it had just been a matter of postponing his trial on the Lions' den by a few minutes, using the extra time to eclipse himself and enter the dorm.

The Potion Master spared a glance to a framed picture of Lily and that idiot Potter, confirming the trunk's owner's identity, before waving his focus over the lock. The wooden lid was instantly thrown open, the security spells woven into it temporarily disrupted. Unwilling to go through the boy's things, he resorted to a muttered 'Accio cursed book.' and was promptly rewarded by the expelling at high speeds of an inconspicuous-looking journal.

Having ducked under the impromptu projectile, Severus silently thanked his dueling reflexes and walked up to the book. He had little doubt that this was his target as not only did it match Lucius' description and answered to a 'point me' charm, it had also ended up open on the ground, showing lines upon lines of an aggressive-looking foreign language.

With extreme caution, Severus wrapped the tome in a good length of silk – the fabric was as magically-inert as you could get – and pocketed the whole, determined to look at it as soon as his inspections were over.

It was with a decidedly lighter step that he returned to his appraisal of the tower's defenses.

* * *

Something was _seriously_ wrong with that journal. The Potion Master just didn't know _what._

Returning it to Malfoy Manor hadn't stopped his friend's nightmares and even now, a whole week after doing so, the two of them weren't any closer to figuring out why.

The book seemed dark, yes, but no more than the rest of Lucius' collection. It almost certainly contained exotic and forbidden knowledge, encrypted in some horridly twisted language which had unsurprisingly caught the Dark Lord's interest, but was also so obviously inert and so utterly bland that it probably couldn't even give people paper cuts, let alone affect dreams and thoughts.

Severus was certain that this journal had nothing to do with his friend's ailment, that this sickness was either natural, which was unlikely, or provoked by something else entirely… and he had his suspicions as to what.

If his hunch was correct, then Lucius hadn't so much been driven crazy by a dark artifact as he'd been driven crazy by _dark artifacts_. No single object, cursed or otherwise, had affected his mind. Instead, Lucius was simply paying the toll for his years of service and near-constant exposure to high concentration of dark magic. His body was finally breaking down from an insidious strain that, until then, had gone completely unnoticed, gnawing on him from inside.

Lucius refused to believe so, blaming his nightmares on the book.

Severus knew better.

So, unable to convince his friend to seek professional medical attention, the Potion Master did the next best thing… and went to tell his wife on him.

"And you are certain of your diagnostic?" asked Narcissa in a broken tone, distressed by her husband's situation.

"Yes, this sort of dark magic induced dementia is fairly recognizable." confirmed the Head of Slytherin gravely. "Several Death Eaters suffered from it during the war, your sister being one of the most… memorable case."

The witch paled drastically at the mention of her deranged relative. Comparing Lucius to Bellatrix, of all people, certainly got the message across.

"Wh… what can we do?"

"Apart from disposing of his collection and purging the house entirely... not much, I'm afraid." he sighed. "Even that would only prevent his condition from worsening and spreading to others. Cases as advanced as his are, as far as I know, untreatable."

"How can it be? He was fine mere weeks ago, Severus."

"I do not know, but the speed at which it developed is indeed worrying." frowned the Head. "I'm sorry Narcissa, but this is beyond my expertise."

"... would St. Mongoose –"

"Perhaps, though I cannot be sure." he mused. "I myself am no healer, so it _is_ possible that the medi-witches and wizards will find something I missed…"

But honestly, he doubted it. Healer he may not be, but he'd been the Dark Lord's appointed potioneer. He _knew_ those signs all too well.

Narcissa didn't need that though, she needed to be reassured right now, she needed hope… even if it meant being lied to.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had been admitted to St Mungo's artifact damage ward three days ago and Head Healer Elena Dallon already felt like banging her head against a wall.

The 'respectable' Lord Malfoy disrespected the other patients, outright insulted every non-pureblood personnel and made outrageous demands of the cleaning and cooking staff, prompting incensed flaunting rants about his money and political power when those demands weren't met, which was always.

The man was also a gibbering drooling mess, plagued by violent, incessant, untreatable nightmares.

According to his file, those were the result of some _undescribed_ dark artifact he'd _accidentally_ acquired from some _unnamed_ street vendor down in Knockturn Alley, which had since gone _conveniently_ missing – both the vendor AND the artifact.

But if she was to hazard a guess, Elena would say that it was a lingering aftereffect of dark magic exposure. The guy's insanity wasn't the result of any curse, potion residue or remnants of rune-tempering, he was just overdosing on evil.

You-Know-Who, Sirius Black, The Lestranges, the Carrows… those were all the proofs she needed.

Anyway, the man was a wreck and unless she was mistaken, would remain one. There was simply no cure for such severe magical poisoning.

Which meant that after the legal month-long observation period, the administration would ask Lucius to liberate his bed, so they could treat _treatable_ patients instead of wasting their time poking at incurable symptoms.

What _that_ meant, was that Elena would have to either, a, release him, or b, transfer him to the long-term ward. In the first case, the man would be a danger to society and she wouldn't give him two weeks before he murdered someone in cold blood. In the second, he would be an obnoxious patient for the rest of his life and drive the entire service up the wall, herself included.

She wasn't fond of either of those solutions.

* * *

When he'd went upstairs to grab breakfast today, Draco hadn't expected to find his mother waiting by the professors' table, talking politely with his godfather and the Headmaster.

He certainly hadn't expected to be excused from classes for family reasons and taken to visit his father in St Mungo's either.

Apparently, the nightmares had unexpectedly worsened during the night and his father's mental state had degenerated even further. Under the Head Healer's orders, he would be moved later that day, isolated into the long-term ward away from most other patients and access to his room would be restricted. His mother would have visitation rights, obviously, but Draco himself wouldn't - with most of his father's nightmares revolving around him, it had been decided to reduced contact between them, which was stupid if you asked him – and so today would be their last meeting for Merlin knows how long.

But if there was one thing Draco definitely hadn't expected, it had been to be welcomed by his father's panicked screams the instant he walked into the room.

"NO, NOOOOO! YOU CAN'T BE HERE, YOU CAN'T! GO AWAY! GO BACK TO HOGWARTS."

The young Slytherin jerked back in surprise, disappointed. His father… wasn't happy to see him? But… why?

"Lucius, please –" tried his mother.

"You!" seethed his father. "You did this, Narcissa. You brought him here. I told you not to and you _disobeyed_."

His mother being accused took Draco out of his trance and he jumped to her rescue, despite his growing confusion. Why was his father acting like this?

"Father, no. I… I _wanted_ to come." he defended her. "I wanted to see you. Mother has done nothing wrong."

Hearing his beloved son's voice didn't have the expected effect, just the opposite in fact. Instead of appeasing his father, it caused his entire body to tense as if under an immense pressure.

"No… no." he whispered disbelievingly, his face blanching and taking a corpse-like appearance. "It's... it's too late… too late… to late… too late..."

"… Father?" Draco called out tentatively, to see if he could help someway.

Wrong approach.

"NOOOOOO!" suddenly yelled the deranged blond, forcefully grabbing his wife's wand – his own had been confiscated – shoving her away and stunning her in the same move.

Draco's mind blanked. Whatever it had been that he'd just witnessed, it hadn't, COULDN'T have happened. His father would never curse his mother… never.

And yet, he watched her fall to the ground, her wand already pointed at him by a shaking arm.

"I won't let you." angrily spat his delirious father.

The voice was so cold, so twisted, so venomous, that a tiny part of Draco, a small logic center hidden away under his burning confusion, fear and disbelief, finally understand.

This wasn't his father. Just a twisted thing masquerading as him, wearing his face, using his voice… a simulacrum.

Something exploded to his left, he payed it no mind.

"I WON'T LET YOU!" shouted the entity, releasing a bubbling violet spell.

Draco closed his eyes, unable to sustain the look of fear, disgust and… victory on the thing's face

* * *

One moment, Auror Maxwell Dawson was unashamedly flirting with a medi-witch called Audrey, a twenty-something brunette with a cute mole under her eye.

"NOOOOOO!"

The next, he was moving, his body reacting before his brain could even register the shout.

He'd heard a lot of shouts lately, guarding the nutjob. It wasn't the most prestigious of position, but Malfoy was an important man, insane or not, and the Ministry had found it careful to appoint him a guard… hooray. His job was literally to stand before the guy's door, look mean, control visitors and help the nurses restrain Malfoy when he had a crisis.

Because of that last part, he wasn't even allowed to silence the room, so yes, he'd heard his fair share of screams… but none like this one. It was filled with dread, anguish and despair.

Maxwell blasted the door open – standard procedure, no kidding – and barged into the room, wand at the ready. Half a second was all he needed to assert the situation. Lady Malfoy was on the floor, either dead or unconscious. Lord Malfoy was still in his bed, smiling sickeningly and holding a wand – probably his wife's – on his petrified son.

"I WON'T LET YOU!" he shouted again, casting a nonverbal curse of unknown nature toward his son.

The Auror retaliated instinctively, stunning the man and erecting a quick shield spell around the boy.

Lucius Malfoy went down, his curse didn't… sort of. It shredded the shield like wet tissue paper and seemed to fizzle out about a foot before the kid… who still fell to the ground.

Had it hit then? Or had he just passed out from the shock? If he'd been off-duty, Maxwell would have checked on Malfoy junior first, but since he wasn't, he confirmed that the insane patriarch was unconscious, disarmed and adequately bound.

"Suspect is down, you can come in." he called, motioning for the frightened nurse standing beyond the destroyed door.

The brunette lost no time and knelt by the Hogwarts' student, weaving a quick diagnostic scheme.

"He's fine." she provided. "He merely lost consciousness."

The curse must have dissipated when he'd stopped the husband.

"Same for Lady Malfoy." he replied, having just checked the woman's pulse. "Can you put them in another room and keep them there? I'll have to take their deposition when I'll be done reporting the incident and they probably need the rest."

"I'll inform Healer Dallon and set up a room." she confirmed, walking out to find her superior.

Maxwell levitated Lucius beside him and followed suit.

* * *

Dobby loved cleaning the Chamber. The Seekers oozed ectoplasm whenever they moved, so he was never bored and Mistress Lily always let him sing and ever borrow some picture books when he had a break – a ten minutes one every day.

He loved it almost as much as making old bad master suffer.

When he wasn't working in the Chamber, Dobby was spying on old master and when old master went to sleep, Dobby had to warn Master Harry. Master Harry would step to old master and use a spell so he couldn't sleep and shouted a lot instead. Dobby loved that.

The House Elf felt his young master call him and popped away from the Chamber, relocating himself to a currently unused room on the school's 3rd floor corridor. Master Harry was lying on the floor, cursing repeatedly.

Mistress Lily wouldn't be happy.

"Master Harry is hurt." observed Dobby, eyeing patches of black tissues spread on his young master's skin. "What did Master Harry do this time?"

His answer came in the form of a colored tirade about bad old master and taking a spell for his [censored] of a son who was also bad but didn't deserve to die.

"Can't Master Harry heal himself or ask Master Hermaeus Mora for a cure?"

"My spells only slow the curse down and Mora's price is disproportionate." grunted the wizard, glowing hands hovering over his torso. "I need you to raid Pomfrey's office and bring me a potion… not sure which one though. Whatever you find that can stop organs from rotting."

"Perhaps Master Harry should learn not to jump in front of spells." remarked the elf.

A pop and he was standing in the school's infirmary, the healing lady nowhere to be seen. Dobby reached for his innate magic and effortlessly opened her potion cabinet, revealing many potions… what now? He didn't know what potion to take and they were not labeled.

Third row on the right, the thin bottle with blue wax on the cork.

"Thank you." beamed the elf, vanishing with his price from the empty office.

* * *

 _Murder attempt on the Malfoy family_

by Rita Skeeter

It was on Tuesday, December the 1st, during a casual visit to St' Mungo's Hospital, that Lady Narcissa Malfoy and her son, young heir Draco Malfoy, were assaulted by a patient suffering a psychotic episode. The madman forcefully claimed Lady Malfoy's wand, stunning her before proceeding to target young Draco, with, of all things, an illegal organ-rotting curse.

The Malfoy heir was thankfully saved by the rapid intervention of the on-duty Auror assigned by the Minister to guard the deranged assaillant, Lord Malfoy himself.

Indeed, in an unbelievable twist of fate, Lucius Malfoy, once an upstanding citizen and respected member of the Wizengamot, has fallen into insanity.

Suffering from severe chronic – and seemingly incurable – nightmares, the man was admitted to St' Mungo's on the 16th of November, where he spent the next two weeks in a somewhat stable condition. Things truly went awry when the nightmares intensified and intruded on his awake mind, leading him to commit this monstruous act of agression on his own flesh and blood.

On Chief Warlock Dumbledore's request, the Wizengamot will hold an emergency session later today and –


	10. Chain Reaction

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _He who jumps into the void owes no explanation to those who stand and watch._

* * *

Chain Reaction

* * *

Shadows were, by their very nature, deceptive.

Most would see them as two-dimensional immaterial shapes, stretching from physical objects, shying away from light sources, but a scientific point of view would reveal them to be three-dimensional instead, nothing but an absence of light inside a certain volume of space. A physicist would then use words like light sources or diffusion, umbra, penumbra and antumbra, perhaps even shadow blister effect if he or she really knew his or her subject.

Truly, shadows were strange.

According to one Harry James Potter, they were also _f*cking terrifying_.

Now, he didn't claim to own a PhD in physics, but he'd read Nirnian books and used his Cloak often enough to be familiar with shadows. Those things weren't mere shapes or an absence of light, they were otherworldly echoes, glimpses of events taking place beyond the veil, gates to other realities. On Nirn anyway. Here on Earth, things were… a bit different.

The young wizard was presently moving through Hogwarts, his entire body distorted into incoherent wisps of shadows by the daedric cloak wrapped around his presently non-existent shoulders. A cloak he'd been using _incorrectly_ for weeks because, for some _freaking reason_ , the _daedric artifact_ didn't actually require _daedric_ energy. The stuff was too potent and overwhelmed the cloak, which much preferred mundane Nirnian magic. Harry had basically been turning himself into a completely unnatural empty spot, thus becoming visible by being way _way_ too invisible.

Hadn't that been a kick in the pants.

The castle was a blur around him, its oblivious inhabitants slightly out of phase, walls and doors cracked like shards of broken glass. Not another world per say, more like another dimension hiding beneath reality, underlapping it.

If he'd been able to formulate complex thoughts, Harry would have compared it to the muggles' budding internet. Omnipresent, invisible, frighteningly potent.

[Unease]

He couldn't, obviously. How was he supposed to formulate deep, reflecting thoughts without his brain? Emotions and simple feelings were about the only thing he could still express.

" _You mortals are way too dependent on your flesh."_

The situation didn't seem to bother Hermaeus Mora though.

[Irritation]

Harry had been traveling through this realm for about a month now and the out-of-body experience hadn't got any easier. The sensation of utter emptiness that permeated the place was about the worst thing he'd ever experienced and knowing that he could somehow feel it when he didn't have anything even remotely resembling a nervous system was headache-inducing… except he didn't have a head either!

It was maddening and the less time he had to spend in this state, the better. All the steps to and fro Lucius' bedside to dose the guy on Fear spells were more than enough already and he couldn't wait for the trial to take place. With his sorry ass in Azkaban, the dementors would take up the mantle and Harry would finally get to rest a bit. Complotting against someone was _surprisingly_ exhausting.

Finally reaching his intended destination, the wizard emerged in a spacious and brightly lit office, shelves filled to the brim with books and miscellaneous trinkets bearing the Ravenclaw crest. Filius Flitwick's office reminded him of Dumbledore's, in a way, just without the spying paintings.

Standing before the Head of House's desk, a batch of students were waiting for a verdict of sort, clearly related to the sheet of paper held by their Head of House.

Whatever that paper was, Filius Flitwick looked just as thrilled as his students.

[Amusement] conveyed the Daedric contractor, before returning to the physical world.

Just in time to catch the end of the discussion.

"...'ll allow it." conceded the Charm teacher, signing and filing away the form. "If I find out that you disregarded the usual safety rules however, you will immediately disband. And do keep me updated, will you?"

"We will sir, thank you." bowed the Ravenclaws, most of them immediately launching into some animated magicobabble as they exited the room.

Harry purposely ignored the blonde waving at him – one headache was enough, he didn't want to deal with an anthropomorphic one.

Soon, their voices couldn't be heard anymore and the wizard made his presence known.

" _ **They looked pretty excited."**_ he commented casually, making the half-goblin jump in his chair.

"Dear god, don't do that!" yelled the professor, grabbing his chest and glaring at the empty spot where the voice had come from. "I almost had a heart attack."

" _ **We both know you're tougher than that."**_

"Our innocent researcher." realized the half-goblin, recognizing his scrambled voice. "To what do I owe this impromptu visit?"

" _ **I need a favor."**_

"Of course you do." he sighed, wiping his quill and capping his inkwell. "What is it this time? Another Parseltongue-protected backdoor in need of unexpected warding? A second Hallow? Another class five threat?"

" _ **No, no and not exactly. I misplaced a basilisk skin the other day and I was wondering if you knew where I could find it?"**_

Sometimes, people lost textbooks, homework, even items of clothing... his mother's elf had somehow managed to lose a thirty-something feet long basilisk shedding.

Where the hell had it disappeared to and how in Oblivion had Dobby managed to lose _that_?

The house elf had had no satisfactory answers to provide and Harry was now forced to look somewhere else, hence his current inquiry.

He supposed he _could_ have asked Septima Vector, but he still hadn't the foggiest why Mora had wanted him to reveal himself to the Arithmancy professor, so he'd settled on Flitwick instead.

"... you misplaced what?"

" _ **A basilisk's skin? From that class five creature I removed from Slytherin's Chamber? I didn't skin the actual snake, obviously, because that would have been messy and extremely time-consuming, but I**_ **did** _**find a thirty-something feet long shed skin. Tough scales, surprisingly light and extremely resistant to spells, perfect to make proper body armor. Except I didn't really have the time back then, what's with the Elder Wand turning into a Wireless transmitter, so I stored the skin in an unused classroom on the sixth floor. I thought that since it had kept for centuries, it would keep for a few more weeks, you know? Anyway, I took a pretty nasty curse the other day – protecting one of your students, long story - and decided to retrieve the thing before something even nastier gets to punch through my shields. Unsurprisingly, it had since gone missing, so here I am, looking for whoever decided than stealing my property was a good idea. Has anyone reported finding it? One of the prefects or patrolling teachers? The Aurors? Filch perhaps?"**_

"I… I… a moment please."

Quick breaths, shaking hands and… cupcakes. The diminutive professor urgently dug in his emergency stash and started munching on the sugary pastries, getting over his shock with the power of baked goods.

"Okay, I'm… I'm good." he stuttered, half a dozen biscuits later. "So, a basilisk skin over thirty feet long, from what had to be a thousand year old specimen belonging to Salazar Slytherin himself… no, I can safely say that nobody reported anything of the sort."

Which ruled out the Aurors and the faculty, as both of them were certainly entitled to report such a discovery, but did nothing to exculpate the students.

The noose was tightening.

"It couldn't have been smuggled out either, moving something of that size through the school wouldn't have been inconspicuous and the paintings would have seen something." continued Flitwick, absently stroking his mustache. "Have you perhaps discussed the matter with our resident thief?"

" _ **I did. He didn't do it."**_

Cedric was too busy bleeding.

"Well, there's simply no culprit then." he concluded. "Unless you have another accomplice with that level of skills hiding somewhere, that is."

…

Nah, if Luna had taken the skin, she would have already blackmailed him into doing something stupid.

" _ **I don't and what do you mean, no culprit? Basilisk skin don't just spontaneously vanish."**_

"They do here."

" _ **... elaborate please?"**_

"I suspect the school identified the skin as detritus and chose to clean itself."

" _ **Wait a minute, you're telling me that Hogwarts is alive?"**_

"Self-aware, at least. Whether or not it is fully sentient is debatable."

" _ **And it stole my skin?"**_

"I believe so, yes."

There was a bloody Nightingale running around and he was robbed by an inanimate castle?

" _ **How can I get my property back then? Do I have to ask nicely?"**_

"Mmh, I suppose it could work." mused the Charm teacher, actually taking the question seriously. "Though it may be more prudent to let me do the talking. Meepy!"

Something popped and a female house elf bearing the Hogwarts crest appeared out of thin air.

"Professor Flitwick called Meepy?" she asked.

"I did." smiled the half-goblin. "An acquaintance recently asked me what happens to objects removed from the grounds by the school and I was unable to answer him. I was wondering if, by any chance, you would know anything about that?"

"Meepy knows." she confirmed, ears flapping around. "Hogwarts puts lost things in the Come and Go room. Meepy can show you."

A hidden lost and found probably filled to the brim with centuries of memorabilia?

Yes please.

"That would be much appreciated, thank you."

* * *

Filius Flitwick didn't know if he was supposed to be enthusiastic or absolutely infuriated.

Ever since he'd encounter Azra Nightwielder and the present invisible company, his nice, tranquil life had turned into a minefield. He couldn't go one full week without being dragged into some strange, unexpected adventure that almost invariably ended up with Albus yelling at him, for one reason or another. Granted, the last earful he'd received had been from Septima, but the point still stood.

And here he was again, following a house elf to some lost and found room hidden somewhere on the seventh floor, to retrieve a thirty-something feet long basilisk's skin, shadowed by the aforementioned invisible stranger.

He hadn't been so thrilled since that dueling championship in 1979.

He hadn't exactly felt so pissed off since then either.

A freaking basilisk! In Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets! By the stones, you don't just drop that kind of news on someone without proper warning. He'd been that close to a panic attack and his stash of cupcakes had only barely staved it off. If… whatever his name was, kept that up, the vertically-challenged teacher would be done for before Christmas.

Thinking about it, he really needed to ask for his name, or at least a pseudonym, he was getting tired of calling him 'the other one' when he talked to Septima.

It would have to wait a few more minutes though, Meepy wasn't exactly aware of their friend's presence and they were about to reach the seventh floor.

"The Come and Go room opens here." indicated the elf, walking up to a solid wall. "Professor Flitwick must think of what he wants and walk by the entrance three times. The room will answer."

"Thank you Meepy, you can go."

"Professor Flitwick." bowed the elf, before repeating the gesture slightly to the side. "Master Abyss."

Pop.

" _ **What the fu…"**_

Filius' eyebrow rose.

" _ **... heck?"**_

Better.

"So, Abyss huh?"

" _ **I have**_ **no idea** _**where she got that from."**_ replied the invisible student. " _ **But you can't exactly call me 'innocent researcher' forever, so I suppose Abyss will do."**_

A door slowly emerged from the wall, his companion having apparently followed Meepy's instructions.

" _ **Now, let's take a look at that room."**_

He made no further comment on the elf somehow detecting him.

Filius didn't call him out on it.

The door leaf was promptly thrown open, the Come and Go room revealing itself in all of its disorganized beauty as the Head of Ravenclaw passed the threshold. His eager eyes roamed over the mounts of objects lost to the ages, stopping for a split second on a massive basilisk skin before resuming their exploration.

He'd taught at Hogwarts for over twenty years now, how had he managed to miss this place?

" _ **We have a problem."**_

Abyss' voice was so sharp, so devoid of his usual nonchalance that it sent a chill down the half-goblin' spine, effectively bringing him out of his trance. He stopped to eye-ra… huh, admire the room and glanced to the side, where he believed the school's unofficial protector stood.

"What is it?" he asked, putting on his Master Dueler persona.

" _ **Something here is cursed."**_ came the reply, a sphere of golden light – what sort of spell was that? - suddenly erupting into existence. " _ **Cursed to the teeth."**_

"How do you -"

The rest of his question was ignored when the globe sped off toward the back of room, leaving Filius in the dust. Swearing in Gobbledegook, the Charm professor hurriedly followed the light through the aisles, running as fast as his short legs allowed him to.

Left, right, around a pile of left socks, left, avoid the huge chest in the way, left again, right, don't knock over the incomprehensibly lit brazier, right, don't mind the passing broom, right, you have reached your destination.

The glowing orb had stopped, hovering before a table covered in dusty jewelries and as he discovered a disturbingly familiar diadem, elation and dread simultaneously bloomed in Filius' guts.

"Tell me it's not the diadem." he pleaded, an aching lump in his throat. "Please, everything but the diadem."

" _ **... I'm sorry."**_ apologized Abyss, his hovering spell dissipating. " _ **Whatever it was, it was defiled."**_

"Not a Ravenclaw then." half-chuckled, half-choked the Head of House. " _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._ This is… was, the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, said to possess magical properties enhancing the wearer's wisdom. _What happened to it?_ "

Those last words had been growled, the man utterly _pissed_ that someone had had the nerves to temper with this priceless legacy.

" _ **Voldemort stuck a piece of his soul in it."**_ replied the student without missing a beat, freezing Filius' blood in his veins.

Not because of the taboo name, or the fact that the former dark wizard was involved. After all, his evening had been officially shot the moment Abyss had entered his office, so why not add a Dark Lord to the mix? No, his blood froze because he couldn't find it in himself to be even remotely concerned enough by this new development.

It seemed dealing with Azra and Abyss had _seriously_ screwed with his sense of normality.

" _ **Step back, I need space."**_ instructed his interlocutor, right hand fading into visibility with blood dripping from the index.

Okay, what?

"Wait, what are you…?"

" _ **I'm fixing this."**_ cut Abyss, scant on details.

The bloody finger immediately lowered to the ground and began to draw lines and characters in some complicated design, clearly a runic scheme of sort.

Fixing this? How? By exorcising the soul or by destroying the headgear? Not that it really mattered he supposed, that taint definitely had to go, but option one sounded _a lot_ better.

Still, he remained silent as the mostly invisible student focused on his task for about two minutes, the ritual becoming more and more intricate under the puzzled eyes of the Charm professor. He recognized certain patterns, but most of the characters were completely foreign. What sort of runic alphabet was that? And don't tell him that Abyss had come up with it, because that would be pushing it.

Finishing the incomprehensible scheme, the aforementioned wizard rose an orange-glowing hand toward the diadem, engulfing it in a similar glow and making it float over to a small circle of bloody markings.

Telekinesis now?

" _ **Fair warning."**_ said Abyss as he produced a mat black crystal of sort from somewhere on his person, the gem taking its place in another circular amalgam of drawings on the opposite side of the ritual. " _ **This is an as of yet untested experimental design that may or may not explode violently. You may want to conjure a shield or two."**_

No need to tell him twice. Thirty seconds later, the Head of House was covered in enough defensive enchantments to stop dragon fire and bracing himself for whatever was about to happen.

He wasn't disappointed.

Abyss' magic pulsed, his spilled blood came to life and a crimson barrier sprung over the entire ritual. Then, a thin tube of swirling purple energies formed, connecting stone and diadem as the later began to vibrate, a horrid black ooze erupting from the ornament. Another part of the ritual shone and the purple vortex widened, sucking in the goo. Filius watched, fascinated and horrified, as what had been hosted in Rowena's relic made contact with the black crystal and was absorbed into its depths, hissing - was that Parseltongue? - and screaming. In moments, the last speck of evil mud vanished and the stone produced a strange melodic noise, almost like a gust of icy wind blowing through willow trees.

" _ **Huh, I guess it works."**_ observed Abyss, unpowering what part of his rune-scheme surrounded the diadem, before retrieving the object and presenting it to Filius. " _ **There you go, one cleansed Founder relic."**_

The Head of House received it with trembling hands, overwhelmed by emotion.

"Thank you." he croaked. "Ravenclaw House is in your debt."

" _ **You helped me find the skin and a phylactery, consider the debt settled… though I wouldn't be against taking a closer look at that diadem later."**_ replied the partly-visible wizard, returning to his ritual. " _ **As for you, you persistent moron, you are in serious trouble."**_

His hand moved, a final set of runes was expertly drawn around the previous ritual and the entire scheme flashed, blinding Filius. When the spots in his vision disappeared, the blood runes and possessed crystal were nowhere to be seen.

" _ **Two down, three more to g… FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!"**_

"Excuse me?!"

* * *

Completing his mother's ritual over the previous soul-trap, Harry – now dubbed Abyss by a school elf, which was _extremely_ weird – wondered for the fifth time why he had even bothered letting Flitwick know about the soul piece or transferring it from the crown to a black soul gem with a bodged runic scheme, when Mora could have just decompose the entire thing and discreetly create a new one, leaving the Charm teacher none the wiser.

" _Because being seemingly truthful and letting your teacher witness the cleansing of his most treasured legacy awarded you significantly more, his trust in you growing and giving you access not only to the diadem, but also to favors from him and his House."_ responded the Prince.

"And because I claimed that his debt was cleared, it only made it bigger in his head." mentally sighed the wizard. "I hate manipulating people like that."

" _Yet you do it anyway."_ pointed out the Daedra. " _Now focus on your runes and give me that soul piece."_

Harry shook his head and powered the daedric scriptures, making the soul gem disappear in a flash of emerald light. Good thing the cloak could block electromagnetic radiation, or he would be seeing spots.

" _The wraith has three other horcruxes."_

Mora clearly didn't lose time when it came to consuming souls. Still, good to know.

" _ **Two down, three more to g…"**_ jovially began Harry.

" _Sithis' stone is among them."_ added the Prince.

" _ **FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!"**_ objected his contractor.

"Excuse me?!" asked Professor Flitwick, eyes wide in disbelief.

" _ **Sorry."**_ he apologized sheepishly. " _ **When I destroy a phylactery, I get a small feedback on what the soul fragment knew and I just got the worst news ever."**_

"So that's where your spells come from." mused the half-goblin.

" _ **Sure, let's go with that."**_ he shrugged. " _ **Anyway, the fragment I found during the holidays taught me what they were and how to sense them. That second piece right now, told me of three others and remember when you asked if I'd found another Hallow?"**_ he asked, receiving what was clearly a forced nod. " _ **Yeah, Voldemort put a soul fragment in the Resurrection Stone. Now excuse me, I have to secure it before a primordial void deity decides to erase our universe from existence because some jackass played with his artifact."**_

Without further ado, he let the cloak cover his hand and vanished into the shadow realm, on his way to…where exactly?

[Inquiry]

" _The Gaunt family house, Little Hangletown, Yorkshire."_

[Exasperation]

Yep, that about summed it up.

* * *

When her fellow professor had come by her office to discuss his latest encounter with their invisible friend – who, apparently, went by the name Abyss – Septima Vector had fully expected another headache.

She got it – with a supplement of weirdness – in the form of two lost hidden chambers, a legendary relic from one of the school's founder, the shed skin of another's pet beast, souls pieces from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a threat of universal extinction event.

Now, the whole bits of Dark Lord soul business was admittedly worrying and she would definitely look into it, but what really bothered her was…

"... a primordial void deity?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?"

The wizard shrugged.

"He's been trustworthy so far, why wouldn't I?"

"Because he's talking about an imaginary relic and some random omnipotent being that could destroy the entire world on a whim?" she deadpanned. "What part of that sounds even remotely believable to you?"

"The Deathly Hallows are all too real, Septima." he replied with conviction. "Many goblins have reported their appearances throughout the ages, inevitably followed by death and misery. The wand obviously has the bloodiest history, but the stone wasn't spared its fair amount of bloodshed. Whichever deity is behind them, I do not want to meet."

The young Arithmancy teacher looked at her esteemed colleague, wondering when he'd ceased to be the second most logical and skeptical individual in the castle – the first one being Severus – to turn into a superstitious nutcase.

Two names starting with an _A_ came to mind.

"Don't give me that look, swearing by Merlin and Magic itself is just as illogical and you do it frequently. Why then, would the existence of deities be so hard to conceive?"

"Because I'm just swearing by them, not deifying them!" the witch exclaimed herself. "Merlin was human and Magic is just a force of nature. It doesn't think, it _cannot_ think. There's no such a thing as gods."

"And the Hallows?"

"Man-made, assuming they exist at all."

"We both heard Fawkes that night, you know Albus had the Elder Wand."

"No, I _know_ that Albus' wand was powerful and dangerous, but you have _no proof_ that it was in any way connected to a children's tale turned urban legend."

"We'll agree to disagree then." replied the half-goblin, shaking his head sadly. "Me and every other sentient magical species in the world."

Smart-ass.

"Just because you can't see it, Septima, doesn't mean it isn't there." he added as he rose from his seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have fifth-year essays to grade and a research club to formalize so I'll be on my way."

Septima replied politely and escorted him to the door, closing it behind him before scoffing soundly.

Gods, pfff.

* * *

Seated in a comfortable chair, up in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione Granger was having the time of her life re-re-re-re-re-reading her favorite birthday present. She was pretty sure that she'd just made a _major_ discovery in the notes Harry had given her and had never felt so excited before.

Expect that one time when Professor MacGonagall had invited her to Hogwarts.

And the day she'd brought her wand.

And that same day when she'd successfully cast her first spell.

And her first day of classes.

And last year's Halloween night – the part when she'd gained her first friends, not the troll part.

And… yeah, she was pretty excited.

"...urder the jackass. I know he's absolutely bonkers, but that was just suicidal."

Talk about the devil...

"Harry, I was looking for you." enthusiastically called the witch as one of her best friends entered the tower playing with a… marble of sort. "I think I found something."

"That's great." he replied, quickly climbing up the boys' staircase. "But can you tell me about it lat-"

"Sure." she replied, following him to his room. "See, I was at breakfast, rereading your notes on the origins of spells and their observable effects -"

"Hermione."

"- most specifically the shifts in magic inside the caster's body, when Ron made an offhand comment about Seamus having his wand stolen by Peeves and accidentally exploding him to retrieve it and something just… clicked."

"Hermione."

"Seamus is so used to exploding things that he managed to do it _without his wand –_ which is slightly worrying, if you think about it."

" _Hermione."_

"Anyway, I think there's a connection there, one you overlooked in your analysis. Harry, I think it could be the key to _wandless magic!"_

Her tirade coming to an end, the witch finally registered that she was standing before the boy's bathrooms. Harry was holding a change of clothes and his own attire was in a sorry state for some reason. He also looked really _really_ sweaty.

The raven-haired boy looked at her with a tired expression for a few seconds, before raising his right hand and wandlessly casting a _Lumos_ charm.

"Congratulation, you figured it out." he huffed in exasperation, extinguishing the floating orb of light. "You get a cookie and a piece of advice. It gets easier later on but the first spell is a bitch to learn, so good luck with that. Now excuse me, I really need a shower."

Then he shut the door on her face.

* * *

"HAAARRYYYYYYYYYY!"

The Gryffindor Common Room as a whole looked towards the boys' dorms as a familiar voice reverberated through the entire building.

"Kitchen?" asked a Weasley twin, sharing a glance with his brother.

"Kitchen." confirmed the other, already making for the door.

They definitely weren't running away, it was a tactical retreat.

* * *

Having just heard the good news from Luna, Sheogorath snapped his fingers and his throne promptly swallowed him, spiting him back out in one of Hermaeus' many testing facilities, deep within Apocrypha.

His brother/sister/parent/it's complicated was there, clearly hard at work as he stared intently at the Resurrection Stone, as if he wasn't seeing its physical form and instead scrutinizing its connection to the Void.

" _A vengeful god wants to scoop your eyeballs out of your vitriol, roll for initiative."_ instructed the Prince of Madness, motioning at the black octahedron.

" _Sheogorath."_ his brother greeted him, several eyes turning his way.

" _Herm."_

" _Don't call me…"_ began the seething Prince of Knowledge, only to stop when he registered how futile it would be to finish that sentence. " _Nevermind, what do you want?"_

" _I heard you found grandfather's stone and I was wondering if I could return it for you."_

" _No."_

" _Why? Didn't you have enough time to unveil its secrets? It's been in your possession for three hours, you're getting sloppy Herm."_

" _Go away, Sheogorath."_

" _Not happening, now give me that."_

" _No."_

" _Yes"_

" _No."_

" _Yes and don't be so obtuse. You're not getting anything else out of the stone and you know it. Now stop whining, it's getting ridiculous."_

" _... I hate you."_ deadpanned Apocrypha's creator, vanishing from the room, leaving the stone behind.

" _Pleasure doing business with you."_ the Isles' ruler yelled to the sky, retrieving the stone before disappearing in his own portal.

He reformed in an endless expense of emptiness, devoid of light, matter, even time. The Void was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, encompassing everything. Someday, this place would devour all the lights in the sky.

"You've returned." observed a feminine voice to Sheogorath's left – or was that his right? - and he turned to face the woman.

" _Grandma."_ he beamed at the redguard. " _Long time no see. How are you and Grandpa doing? Do I have another uncle or aunt on the way?"_

"I am fine, Mad God, as is my husband. And no, five children and seventeen stepchildren are already more than enough for this old lady. Now, tell me, how are you faring, my Hero?"

" _Oh, he's fine… I mean,_ I'm _fine… I..._ am..."

The immortal stumbled, head throbbing and pulse quickening. Bile rose in his throat and sweat rolled down his back. Convulsions began to spread through his whole body and, after an interminable moment, the Hero of Kvatch puked in the empty realm, the vile excretion vanishing in midair.

He hated regaining his sanity. Being able to think without the Prince of Madness' many voices urging him to go in twelve and a sixteenth different directions was nice, but the transitions themselves were extremely disagreeable.

"Hello, my Listener." smiled the Night Mother.

"Mother." he greeted awkwardly, wiping vomit from his mouth.

"I believe you have something for me?"

"I… I do. An agent of Hermaeus Mora recently found -" he fished the stone from one of his pocket. "- this artifact, which Nocturnal identified as belonging to your husband. Sheogorath… I, was returning it to you, so that it may once again serve the Brotherhood."

"Your loyalty to our family is much appreciated -" mused the Dread Father's wife, making no move to retrieve the stone. "- but you are misguided. The stone belongs to a bygone time. It served its purpose and much like you my child, it has no place here anymore."

" _I_ … I see." stammered the former assassin. "Will it be _destroyed_ then?"

"Perhaps, though not by my husband. He is content with one mortal realm and won't involve himself with this other one."

Of course Sithis would know about it, the brothers had passed right through the Void when they'd been exiled.

"So, should I _keep it_ , return it to Earth, destroy it…?"

"I cannot say, the fate of the stone isn't mine to dictate anymore." replied the Night Mother. "You will have to decide by yourself, Listener."

One of the voices – back already? - suggested something interesting and the former Duke of Mania found himself agreeing.

"I think I _already did_." he smiled, putting the stone away before hugging the woman. " _Thanks, Grandma."_

A purple orb of energies erupted around his body and Lord Sheogorath left the dimension.

In the emptiness, the Night Mother muttered fondly about her crazy nutjob of a stepson/grandson.

* * *

Harry yawned under his covers, enjoying his Sunday so far.

Under normal circumstances, Oliver would have woken him up at dawn to practice, but the Quidditch Captain was down in the infirmary after a bludger had gone batshit insane and tried to murder him.

Lucky.

Also, after the room, the diadem and the stone, plus running away from Hermione, yesterday had been hectic and he could definitely use the down time. Especially since there were two other horcruxes out there that still needed to be taken care of.

The wizard yawned again, because you can never have too much of a good thing, and blindly extended his arm past the comfort of his bed, reaching for a wand so he could check the time. His fingers encountered the bed table and began to scrabble about.

Glasses, a pile of books, the stone, the photograph of his parents he'd taken out of Hagrid's album and had had framed in Diagon All _wait a minute!_

Harry bolted upright and stared at the Resurrection Stone, innocently lying on his bed table.

What?

The Hallow helpfully responded with a pulse of raw daedric magic and he felt it connect to his core.

WHAT?!

" _Necromancy is the new black._ " jovially projected Sheogorath, momentarily hijacking the mental link he shared with Mora. " _Congratulation, it's a stone."_

That was as good as a confession.

"Fuck this shit!" loudly stated the wizard, gathering the attention of his roommates. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Huh… okay." accepted Neville.

"It's 10.30, Harry." pointed out Seamus.

"Don't care, I'm not getting up and YOU CAN'T MAKE ME."

"We weren't going to try." wisely replied Dean.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Ron, puzzled by his friend's strange behavior.

"Ask me again tomorrow." mumbled the daedric contractor, going back under his covers.

Because seriously, fuck this shit.

* * *

In his labyrinthine plane of Oblivion, Hermaeus Mora quirked a couple dozen eyebrows.

Well now, wasn't that… interesting?


	11. Til Death Do Us Part

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him._

* * *

'Til Death Do Us Part

* * *

Prior to the late thirteenth century, no one knew for certain what awaited beyond death. No one really knew what death even _was_ , to be honest.

Since time immemorial, Muggles had waged war over the existence and rightfulness of deities, spirits and other cosmic forces, fating mortal souls to various afterlives, reincarnation cycles or simply oblivion. Meanwhile, their wizarding counterparts had been divided between entrusting their souls to Magic itself and, again, plain nonexistence.

Obviously, they'd relied on more bases than their non-magical siblings because ghosts, freaky doorway and soul magic, white, black or otherwise, had definitely been a thing in their society and if souls where real, then something obviously _had_ to happen to them.

They just hadn't known WHAT.

Even ghost hadn't known what.

'What changed then?' one might ask.

Simple, three dimensional expatriates had unceremoniously landed in the British northern countryside with as many god tier artifacts.

The eldest brother, Antioch Peverell, had been a cultist of Mehrunes Dagon. Not out of faith, but by necessity. Ill with a terminal disease that should have killed him years ago, the mage had consorted with the daedric Prince of Destruction to stay alive, the only way he'd found at the time to support his younger brothers after their parents' death. His Staff of Thirst losing its connection to the Badlands in his displacement, he would die in a matter of days, a relief for his weary soul.

By comparison, Ignotus, the cadet, thief by profession, would live the longest. Retaining his weakened Cloak of Shadow, object of power of the daedric Prince Nocturnal, he would have a quiet, uneventful life of crime, ultimately dying of old age after passing the artifact on to his son. Generations later, the Potter family would still carry his legacy.

But it was Cadmus, the second brother, that would unknowingly impact death itself.

He was the ring finger, third Speaker of the Black Hand and keeper of the Dark Brotherhood's Stone of Souls, an artifact crafted by none other than the Dread Father himself, from which Lorkhan and many of the Princes were rumored to have sprung. On the metaphysical scale of divinity, the Stone was simply a few steps above his siblings' artifacts and proved it by essentially revolutionizing death the instant it crossed into this universe.

In mere picoseconds, the relic registered its dissociation from the Void, rifled through every sub-dimension it could reach in this new reality and reanchored itself unto the most familiar one. Cadmus' feet hadn't even touched the ground that, already, the Stone had redirected its first soul into an empty layer of existence, before the universe at large could erase it as per the natural laws.

From then on, souls were no longer returned to dust, but harvested and stored, waiting to be called on by the Stone's wielder.

Cadmus would poison himself with a fast-acting painless concoction a few decades later, satisfied with his life and eager to rejoin his recently deceased wife in the Void. The Stone would remain with his descendants, recalling 73 different souls from their eternal slumber over the course of the next seven centuries.

On November the 7th, 1992, the Chamber of Secrets would welcome the 74th.

* * *

James Potter gasped awake, eyes wide open and ears ringing with the sound of a thousand bells as scrambled memories came rushing back to him.

He remembered… shouts, Lily's. His' too. Harry's cries as his mother took him up the stairs and the cruel, insane laughter coming from outside. Wood splinters, the door banished open, red wrathful eyes seizing him up… green light, darkness.

The influx of pictures stopped as suddenly as it had come and the world jumped into focus, the wizard finally registering where he was.

A humongous circular room, richly decorated with banners and strange glowing fish statues, filled with bookcases arranged around an intricate altar of sort and an ordinary-looking desktop, with a multi-eyed giant sculpture in the background.

He had no memory of this place.

What he could recognize though, were its other occupants. His wife, obviously, and in a roundabout way, the carbon copy of himself at her side.

"Lily." he breathed with emotion, floored by the sheer impossibility of what he was seeing. "Harry."

Something was wrong here.

His wife was dead, she had to be. Himself too, for that matter. He'd taken an _Avada_ to the chest, you could hardly do any deader than that. And then that snake in human-skin had probably gone right up to do the same to his wife and son.

Meaning that this, right here, was either a ghost meeting or his orphaned son raising his parents from the dead to have a little chat.

But even assuming that Harry had survived Voldemort's assault - which his Hogwarts robes seemed to suggest - thanks to whatever weird mumbo-jumbo Lils had been working on at the time, what kind of magic would his son have to have dabbled in to be able to conjure spirits from the afterlife?

Something was really _really_ wrong here.

"James." sweetly smiled the love of his life. "We need to talk."

Understandingly, the Marauder gulped.

Loudly.

* * *

Harry would have gladly remained in the Chamber and played catch up with his parents. Really, he would have.

Except that his father's ghost had started to become somewhat physical about halfway through his mother's explanations - thanks to the high density of daedric energies in the room, he assumed - and the young contractor had preferred to spare his poor sinless eyes from witnessing his twenty-one years old parents renew their old passion.

He'd bailed out mid-kiss - which had been too much already - and Stepped all the way up to the seventh floor in less time than it would take for a Nightingale to steal someone's watch while shaking their hand.

There, he'd hoped to finally retrieve the Basilisk skin he'd left behind when he'd gone Stone-hunting and, if he had the time, go through what basically amounted to centuries' worth of free junk to pillage. Surely he would find an artifact or two in there, perhaps even an ancient spell book. And if he remembered correctly, there was a pile of old brooms somewhere.

He could almost smell the sweet _sweet_ points coming his way.

Except that going in and hoarding the entire loot would have been too easy. No, Professors Flitwick and Vector had to be there already, his Charm teacher pacing the Come and Go Room into existence with his tiny limbs before ushering his colleague inside.

He'd known the tiny wizard would want to show this place to his partner in secrecy, he just hadn't thought it would be so soon.

Still immaterial, Harry phased through the door just as it closed and exited shadows in an unblemished empty room.

Strange, why would Flitwick ask for such a thing?

"Why did you ask for an empty room?" asked the Arithmancy Master, mirroring his thoughts.

"I didn't, I asked for any objects that had belonged to the Founders." replied the Head of House, pointing at two items on the ground: Ravenclaw's Diadem and the Sorting Hat. "This is extremely disappointing."

" _Tell me about it."_ scowled the piece of headwear. " _When someone somehow summoned me out of Albus' office, I was expecting Azra or Abyss, not the two of you_."

" **Actually -"**

"Haaaaa!"

" **\- I'm right here."**

"Dammit Abyss, I told not to do that."

" _And you seriously expected him to listen?_ " snorted the Hat, before addressing Harry. " _Still not regretting your Sorting?"_

" **No."**

" _Thought so… I knew you would be great."_

"You know who he is!" accused Professor Vector.

" _Obviously, I Sorted him."_

" **I Sorted myself."**

" _Detail."_

"You won't tell us." Flitwick understood.

" _Do I look suicidal? I don't want to be chewed on by an undead wyvern."_

"You have an undead wyvern?" fearfully asked the half-goblin, looking his way...ish.

" **I don't think the Stone can be used like that."**

" _It can't."_

" **How would** _ **you**_ **know?"**

" _I Sorted several of Cadmus' descendants, before the whole family spiraled into insanity. Now, do you want the sword or will you keep asking useless questions?"_

"Wh **at sw** or **d?!"** simultaneously asked all three magicals.

" _I give up."_ sighed the Hat. " _Hey Fawkes, give me a lift?"_

In a burst of fire, the Headmaster's phoenix teleported in the room, grabbed hold of the hat with its talons - " _Oh, mind the leather!"_ \- and immediately flamed out.

A jeweled silver sword clanged on the floor, having just escaped from the departed Sorting Hat's depths.

"Is that…?" began the witch.

"Godric Gryffindor's sword." breathed her colleague, reaching for the legendary blade.

" **Anything interesting about it?"**

The question, which could be summarized to 'how much points is this worth?', earned him a particularly suspicious look from Professor Flitwick.

"Well, it is made of Goblin-wrought silver and beyond the basic eversharp enchantment, it could supposedly be summoned by worthy _Gryffindors_ in defense of the castle."

The second year expertfully ignored the emphasis put on his House and focused instead on what really mattered: the freakingly valuable Founder's relic.

" **Sounds useful, I'll have to borrow that one too."**

"Certainly." absentmindedly agreed the Charm Teacher, clearly deep in thought.

Was he… trying to guess his identity? By process of elimination?

"Certainly not!" refuted the Arithmancy Professor. "We're not giving a weapon to a student, Filius."

" **Why? It's not as if I wasn't armed already."** countered Harry. " **You let us have our wands after all, and those can be absolutely lethal. Besides, I can do that."**

Shadows jumped from under the witch and gathered in his awaiting hand, consolidating into the form of a serrated Daedric dagger.

"He has a point, Septima."

The former Slytherin glared at the head of Ravenclaw, arms crossed in annoyance.

"What? He does!"

The glare intensified.

"Moving on." he said wisely. "I assume you're here for your Basilisk skin, Abyss?"

" **That's correct."**

"I'm afraid it is unobtainable with the room in its current configuration." observed the half-goblin, setting the sword down. "We'll have to step outside."

" **You're leaving those here?"**

"I am, the room will relocate them." he confirmed, reaching to the door. "And I can always request them again, if the need arises."

On that note, the three of them promptly returned to the hallway and watched the door dissolve behind them, only reforming after the Master Duelist repeated his earlier dance performance.

Things had changed here, it seemed. The mounts of junk were more organised. Perhaps Flitwick's command had been more detailed than Harry's.

"We're inventorying." explained the Head of House, anticipating the question. "For safety reasons. With the Diadem here, who knows what else there could be?"

" **Well, don't let me keep you."** the invisible second year acknowledged as he moved to the enormous pile of shed scales sitting nearby. " **You go back to your inventorying, I'll just go sit in the corner and lose a few pints of blood."**

"You'll what?!" panicked Septima Vector

Oh, _now_ she decided to talk again?

" **I need this thing elsewhere and I have no idea how it would react to being Shadow Stepped, so I'll draw a runic scheme that will move it for me."**

"Using _blood_? That's… barbaric."

" **It's a good medium. Intradimensional portals don't open spontaneously, you know."**

No sooner had he said those words that the room temperature dropped noticeably, a portal of fuming black energies opening up under the bundle of skin and swallowing it whole before winking out of existence.

" _You skin just landed in the Chamber."_ Hermaeus helpfully informed his dumbfounded contractor. " _Also, you newest toy lit up like a Christmas tree."_

" **Okay, that's just bullshit."**

* * *

Lily looked at the candy wrapping in her palm, trying her damndest not to cry.

Two days ago, her son had used his third artifact to call on his father. They'd talked and _talked_ \- cough - and James had asked the dreaded question.

"And the others?"

Yes, what about the others? She'd steeled herself and soldier-on through what answers she could give.

Harry had grown up with Petunia, so Sirius and Remus where probably dead. Same with Frank and Alice, since Neville had been raised by Augusta. Albus and Minerva were alive and kicking, same with Hagrid, Professor Flitwick and most of Hogwarts' staff. Sev was teaching potions now, remarkably well after she'd kicked him in the arse. Amelia was Head of the Department, her niece a Hufflepuff in Harry's year. The Weasleys were doing good too, with seven children, six of them boys. As for the rest of the Order, Harry had only ever encountered Dedalus Diggle, and even then, only in passing. She'd never taken the time to look into them, facing Pandora had been painful enough.

Her husband had released a rather imaginative flow of invective, crude enough to make a goblin blush. It hadn't help that he'd begun to feel strained by the prolonged summoning and poured that ache into his words. Harry had send his father back half an hour later, all the while complaining about stupid semi-sentient relics opening unstable liminal bridges.

Alone once again, Lily had reluctantly swallowed her apprehensions and asked Dobby to search for the whereabouts of former Order members, as discreetly as possible.

He'd returned earlier today, with a few answers and even more questions.

Why had no-one heard about Remus since 1981? And why did no-one want to talk about Sirius? Had his death been _that_ gruesome?

She wasn't sure she wanted the answers to those ones. Especially after looking at the crushed chewing gum wrappers that her old friend Alice had just given her.

Contrarily to her first assumption, Neville's parents were very much alive, desperately so in fact, as both were in a catatonic state in the Janus Thickey Ward for irrevocable spell damage at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The result of torture, extensive _Cruciatus_ exposure leading to memory-loss, insanity and a host of other debilitating afflictions.

Lily took in the soft, affectionate smile illuminating Alice's face and her will crumbled. She threw her arms around her broken friend and wept.

Alice kept on smiling.

* * *

Finally!

After much twists and turns, Lucius Malfoy had been found guilty of about a dozen different charges and subsequently shipped off to Azkaban.

His trial, which had been excruciatingly slow at first because of all the connections the former Lord Malfoy had cultivated, had been promptly expedited when the Auror Department had caught Narcissa - anonymous tips were strange like that - fencing her husband's dark objects collection.

Deciding that her son's safety was worth more than her husband's reputation, she'd agreed to an arrangement. With Lucius' collection, Death Eaters robes and her signed confession that the entire thing belonged to him, the DMLE had closed the trial in a day and the very same night, Lucius had been moved to Azkaban's high security aisle. There, the ponce would slowly wither and die, his mind in shambles as the Dementors picked up where Harry had left off.

It would have been a fitting end for such a despicable individual… except that his mother had cried.

Granted, the Longbottoms' current state was the Lestranges' fault, but after the horcrux fiasco Lucius had orchestrated, who was to say that he wasn't responsible for something just as vile? And Harry downright refused to have the blood of more innocents on his conscience, especially after rekilling Quirrell and freeing Voldemort. There would be more than enough death when the dark wizard would return, so as ruthless as it may appear, the Gryffindor much preferred murdering monsters now than allowing innocents to die later.

And speaking of monsters, the Dementors, Azkaban's inhuman guardians, were somewhat worrying. the daedric contractor had no idea how he would react to them or them to him, nor even if they would be present. But again, he was infiltrating the high security aisle, so the answer was probably yes.

He would have stacked the odds in his favor and learned the Patronus charm, but hadn't exactly had the time to do so. He'd contemplated using Nirnian spells instead, or just brute-forcing his way through with Daedric magic, but the effectiveness of either of those methods remained uncertain, so...

He would have to improvise, hurray!

Still cloaked in shadows, the young wizard cautiously Stepped through the prison's main gate. Ignoring the oblivious Aurors, he moved deeper and deeper into the prison, finally encountering his first Dementor a few turns and corridors down the line.

The creature was stationed in an otherwise empty corridor, passively floating like a sheet of physical darkness hung over some undescriptible nightmare given form.

Safely hidden in an immaterial realm, Harry felt none of the coldness and despair rumored to exude from the abomination and it's with confidence that he trod forward, convinced that he had - and would - remained unseen, forever out of its brethren's reach.

Silly him.

Just as he was about to pass it, the Dementor whipped its head around and did about the last thing the wizard expected.

 **[Enquiry]**

Yeah, that.

[Surprise]

[Fear]

[Panic]

" _How peculiar."_ amusedly observed Hermaeus Mora, probably just to add insult to injury. " _This creature appears to exist partly in the shadow plane."_

 **[Enquiry]**

[Curse]

[Curse]

[Curse]

" _You sound like a broken record."_

[Profanity]

[Vulgarism]

[Obscenity]

[Blasphemy]

" _No need to be a smartass about it."_

 **[Enquiry]**

[Curse]

" _Would you calm down and answer already?!"_ pressed the Prince of Knowledge, annoyed by his mortal's attitude.

[Hesitation]

" _It hasn't attacked you yet and seems more curious than hostile."_ he pointed out.

[Acknowledgement]

[Introduction]

[Mortality]

[Enquiry]

 **[Emptiness]**

 **[Enquiry]**

 **[Destination]**

[Termination]

 **[Enquiry]**

[Protection]

 **[Confirmation]**

[Surprise]

[Enquiry]

 **[Support]**

 **[Kinship]**

[Bullshit]

" _I have_ no idea _how you managed to convey that."_

* * *

Sirius Orion Black was chilled to the marrow.

The cold never truly left in Azkaban, touching every single corner of the god-forsaken fortress. It seeped in every prisoner's bones, seized up joints and dried mucosa, when it wasn't plainly removing frostbitten extremities. And with the blizzard howling outside, the guards on duty had had the brilliant idea to usher all the Dementors inside, heightening the omnipresent feeling of hopelessness and leading to every wall getting covered in permafrost.

Even curled up into a ball under his prison cot, Sirius was still denied the comfort of his own body warmth, his Grimm animagus form somewhat lacking in the fur department. Still, Padfoot shielded his mind from the worst of the Dementors' despair aura, so that was something at least.

A polar bear would have been better though, making it possible to hibernate right through his life sentence. But it wouldn't have been all that discreet, so maybe an artic fox or a hermine? Or perhaps a snowy owl? Basically, anything more resistant to the cold than an unadapted canine, as long as it wasn't a -

' _SNAKE!'_ mentally growled Padfoot, as rank odors of scales and venom suddenly spread in his cell.

The death omen embodiment hurriedly exited his hiding place and dragged his sorry carcass to the barred door, to peer in the block's court.

A lone figure stood there, unmoving and concealed under a large scaly cloak, revealing absolutely no distinctive features.

But Sirius didn't need to see his face, he knew _exactly_ who was standing there.

Snivellius!

Whoops, wrong reptile. He meant Voldemort.

You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord himself, inexplicably returned from the dead and here to free his faithful servants, if the kneeling and whispered 'Master!' from the surrounding Death Eaters where any indication. Also, his crazy cousin's shouts of eternal devotion.

Where were the Dementors when you needed them?

The Grimm tried to growl, snarl, anything, but his sore throat barely produced any sound and his human one wouldn't have done any better. He could only watch, angry and helpless, as the resurrected wizard walked up to the latest newcomer's cell.

Lucius Malfoy, formerly Lord of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and newest chorister in the Great Azkaban Chorus.

Sirius had rarely heard such exquisitely demented shouts.

"M...master." stammered the submissive blond, remaining out of sight even as the animagus tried to press his snout further into the cold bars of his own cell. "I can explain."

And he did, launching himself into a lengthy tale of weakness, folly and some dark collection gathered for his Lord. To be honest, Padfoot wasn't exactly listening, losing himself in his silent wrath until, after much groveling and abusive use of the word 'master', Lucius fell silent, awaiting the judgment of his puppeteer.

And judgment came.

A spell shot inside Malfoy's cell, a sort of swirling mass of purple light, immediately followed by a massive drop of temperature. The former noble gasped, every cellmate situated on the other side of the hall gasped, Voldemort preferred to hiss in his dark, twisted language.

Strangely enough, he got a reply... from _within_ Lucius' cell.

The prisoner screamed his throat raw for about half-a-second before getting cut off as _something_ \- i.e. his corpse - loudly impacted the ground. Then he screamed again - okay, how? - and a strange, melodic noise resonated around the high security aisle.

The inmates were still trying to wrap their mind around what they'd just witnessed when Voldemort moved to the next cell, not even sparing a glance to his subordinate's still cooling corpse. Three seconds later, Dolohov joined his colleague beyond the veil.

Someone screamed.

The slaughter continued.

* * *

Deep within a remote Albanian temperate rainforest, its latest body coiled underneath the rotten trunk of an old uprooted Scots pine, a lone exhausted wraith felt something give.

In this form, the links had been faint, almost nonexistent, but there was no mistaking it. Someone was releasing his servants from their mark.

It wouldn't do.

His ophidian body slithered out of its shelter.

He was still weak after Quirrell, so weak, but something of that magnitude warranted immediate investigation.

He needed to go back.

* * *

Most of the time, Daily Prophet articles worked on situational turnaround. Much like the issue on Lucius Malfoy's fall from grace, the title would catch your attention, but you had to read further to actually understand the context and subtleties of the message.

Not this time.

 _Azkaban Massacre_

 _eleven dead, one escapee_

Crystal clear.

The Prophet's goofy concurrent, Xenophilius Lovegood's Quibbler, had published a somewhat similar paper, though not without adding their usual twist to the story.

 _Stubby Boardman: back from Black_

Because _that_ made a lot more sense.

Overall, in Hogwarts' Great Hall and across all of Wizarding Britain, most readers retained that one Sirius Orion Black, betrayer of the Potters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's right hand man and all around scumbag, had murdered eleven of his fellow Death Eaters before escaping - in the middle of a bloody snowstorm, no less - from the harshed and most secure prison this side of Nurmengard.

A select few - the weird ones - focused more prominently on Stubby Boardman's new single and upcoming "Plastered-Hippogriff Tour".

For their part, all the closet Death Eaters - including the ones who'd bailed their way out of prison after the war - deplored the death of comrades and vowed to take down Black, the only exception being Peter Pettigrew, blissfully unaware of the growing menace to his continued existence.

Finally, two specific persons did not belong into any of those previous categories and had, in fact, vastly different concerns.

Luna Lovegood, after reading the two newspapers, decided to pout, because Harry always had the best adventures and he never invited her along, which was _totally_ unfair.

Cedric Diggory just kept on grinding his teeth to powder, like he'd been doing for the past ten minutes. He was going to _murder_ Potter.

* * *

Susan Bones, second year student at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and proud member of Hufflepuff House, was indisputably an absolutely adorable redhead and a most friendly witch.

At the moment, she also was in an extremely uncomfortable situation, pinned to a wall by Theodore Nott from Slytherin, the wizard forcefully restraining her movements with his own body, holding her mouth shut with his hand and giving her one of the meanest look she'd ever been given.

She was extremely grateful for it.

Having been raised by her aunt Amelia, Susan had a very astute sense of justice and the conversation taking place right next door just made her want to _scream_. So thank you, Theodore Nott, for shutting her up, because getting caught was definitely _not_ an option here.

Not with Cedric Diggory, fifth year prefect from her own House, sternly reprimanding a perfectly stoic Harry Potter for MURDERING ELEVEN PEOPLE!

"... ously, what were you thinking?!" she could hear the Hufflepuff complain. "What sort of foolish, idiotic Gryffindorish thought made you kill Death Eaters that were _already_ rotting in Azkaban?"

"It was an accident?" tentatively offered Harry. "I was cleaning the Basilisk and it just went off."

"Eleven times in a row?" idly wondered another voice, distinctively female.

"It's really ticklish."

"Try again." drily asked the Prefect.

"It was quicker than prolonged Dementor exposure?" tried the murderous teenager. "Spared them the suffering?"

"I like that one." approved the witch.

"I don't." denied the older student. "He drove Malfoy crazy in the first place, so even if he pitied the others - and he didn't - he clearly wanted him to suffer. The real reason, Potter. Now."

"You want the real reason?! Fine! I _killed_ them -" he practically spat those words. "- because they left me no choice. Voldemort would have broken them out first thing after regaining a body, and after that stunt Lucius tried to pull, I couldn't risk them targeting the school again. So I _murdered_ _them in cold blood_ before they could become a threat. I took eleven lives so _you_ wouldn't have to. You're welcome!"

Stop, by Merlin, stop. Too much information there _, wa~y_ too much.

 _Harry Potter_ had driven Draco Malfoy's father insane, Voldemort was somehow still alive and the Gryffindor felt responsible, for some reason. Also, he apparently had a basilisk stashed somewhere and sounded pretty disgusted with himself right now.

But wait, it got better.

Cedric Diggory knew about it, as did an unidentified female student. Susan couldn't quite place her, but she sounded rather young. Second year, first maybe?

Anyway, her mind was overloading and her head had begun to hurt.

"He has a point." remarked the aforementioned unknown girl. "The less resources Voldy has, the better."

Theodore Nott wasn't faring any better it seemed. His eyes were unfocused and his knuckles were slowly turning white.

It would probably leave a mark.

"At what cost?" barked the older wizard. "He already killed twelve persons, Luna."

"Eleven monsters. Quirrell was already dead, so he doesn't count." countered the witch - Luna, apparently. "But the hundreds of innocent lives Harry already saved do. Probably billions, with the wand _you_ helped him steal. Now stop being such a Hufflepuff, he made the right call."

Oh, she didn't!

"... fine." he huffed. "And I was talking about Black, not Quirrell."

"Who?"

Susan frowned.

Had Harry seriously asked what she thought he'd asked?

"Stubby Boardman."

"I don't know who that is."

"Just… ignore her, please."

"You may know him by his given alias, Sirius Black."

"Sirius?!"

"Ah, so you _do_ know him."

"I'd be more surprised if he _didn't_ know the guy." observed the Hufflepuff. "What did you do with him?"

"Nothing." frowned the second year. "Why are you even talking about him? He's been dead for years."

"... seriously?"

Uh-oh, not good.

"Harry, Stubby's been in Azkaban since 1981."

"He vanished from his cell yesterday, sometime around your little visit."

Silence stretched.

"The _one person_ who's supposed to take me in if my parents are killed… and he managed to get his ass thrown in jail, because _of course he did_." finally said the Gryffindor, clearly annoyed. "What happened?"

"He murdered thirteen persons and betrayed your parents' location to Voldemort."

"No."

"... what?"

"I said no." he repeated. "I don't know about the murders, but Sirius didn't betray my parents. Couldn't have, in fact. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper."

And another massive revelation, because at that point, it was basically expected.

Susan felt like banging her head against the wall. It wouldn't help her headache, but with a little luck, it _would_ knock her out.

"He's one of Stubby's victims." pointed out Luna. "They found a finger."

"... I think we have a problem." summarized Cedric.

"The idiot got framed." realised Harry. "And now he probably thinks I'm Voldemort or something."

"Sounds about right." mused the witch.

"Dammit Sirius!"

"So, what do we d-" began the fifth year.

A brief gall of cold air rushed out of the doorway.

"Bloody portals." he grumbled.

"They're pretty." defended the witch, her voice gradually becoming louder - no, coming closer. "And you're Stepping all over the place, so you don't get to talk, Mister Nightingale."

Susan's and Theodore's hearts each missed a beat when a blonde girl in Ravenclaw robes exited the nearby room, almost immediately followed by the Hufflepuff prefect.

Luna glanced at the two eavesdroppers and a mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

They were _so doomed!_

"Hey, Cedric -" she began casually. "- remember that warning you wanted?"

"Ye~s?" he drawled out nervously, following his friend… and completely ignoring them.

Okay, what?

They were standing still in a perfectly straight corridor, wearing yellow and green-trimmed black robes, visibly clashing with the light grey of the castle stone walls and _he hadn't seen them?_

"This is me warning you." said the girl, clearly enjoying the groan her answer elicited.

"My life sucks." sulked the oblivious fifth year, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

"It could be worse."

"How so?"

"You could be Harry."

"... my life is awesome!" he cheered, much to the blonde's amusement.

Watching the two of them interact, Susan had to wonder if they were actually serious… or if Harry Potter had drove them crazy too.


	12. What Now!

Welcome back, dear readers, to _"Knowledge Comes At A Price"_.

 _There is no friend as loyal as a book._

* * *

What now?!

* * *

Twelve year old girls, when raised in a moderately civilized society, by reasonably invested and moral adults, were usually taught to stay proper and mind their language around others.

"FUUUUUCK!"

But your average twelve year old girls weren't commonly aware that Harry Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy and assumed savior of the Wizarding World, was actively running around the place murdering criminals to death.

To be perfectly honest, had he had a less demanding – if unstable – upbringing, Theodore Nott would have cursed too.

As things were, he managed to reign himself in and focused on the pacing female student.

"Are you okay, miss Bones?" he asked tentatively, concerned at her outburst.

"Yeah, just peachy!" snarled the redhead. "We've become secondary witnesses in one case of psychological torture and provoked insanity, eleven murders, at least one theft, and we have evidence of the innocence of an escaped felon, the guilt of a falsely acclaimed war hero and the survival of a dark lord presumed dead for over a decade. What do you think, genius?!"

"Something of the sort." he laughed weakly. "Sorry, I suppose the question _was_ pretty stupid.

"You seem awfully calm about this."

Haaaaaaaaa!

"I assure you, miss Bones, I most certainly am not."

Her bruised wrist showed exactly that.

"You hide it well." she huffed.

"I am a Slytherin, miss Bones." he smiled tiredly. "It's what we do."

The witch snorted, though she looked slightly annoyed. The reason for that was made clear by her next sentence.

"Can you stop acting all formal and drop the miss Bones already? Whenever someone calls me that, I always half-expect to find my aunt standing behind me and given the current situation…"

Right, it would suck severely.

"I will call you Susan, then." he acknowledged, lowering himself against the wall as the tension he felt slowly left his body. "And please, just call me Theo. I'm not exactly one for formality myself."

Like, at all. The less he had to act like someone he wasn't, the better.

The pretty Hufflepuff – shut up, brain – nodded and joined him on the floor, nervously straightening her skirt.

"So... what do you think?" she asked, eyes down. "About all this?"

Excellent question, too bad he didn't have a ready-made answer. He'd just have to summarize to the best of his ability.

"We're in deep shit, Susan."

Well, that was an encouraging start.

"Potter, Diggory, Lovegood, I never would have expected such deep, dark secrets, from either of them… but especially not Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, golden boy extraordinaire, national hero, a bona fide murderer. And several times over, at that. It's so far from his given image it's not even funny." he chuckled at the sheer _gall_ of the guy. "All of Hogwarts – and the Wizardry World at large - expect him to be some kind of caricatural Gryffindor, a proverbial savior charging in impulsively at the slightest threat, but he's clearly a lot more pragmatic than that. In fact, for a Gryffindor, he's exhibiting a surprisingly Slytherin behavior."

He'd honestly never thought he would ever utter this phrase, or even consider it.

Nonetheless, it was true. Theo had little doubt that Harry Potter would have made a frighteningly good Slytherin.

Something that he would freak out about _later_. For now, he had thoughts to share.

"I mean _seriously_ , look at it. Potter is convinced – Merlin knows why - that You-Know-Who is somehow still alive, and instead of doing the rational thing and report it to the DMLE like any sane person would, he chose to sully his hands to do what he felt had to be done to undermine the opposition, even if he had to resort to underhand tactics like rendering Draco's father crazy and infiltrating Azkaban to murder Death Eaters. In his head, he's probably not even murdering them. Not really anyway, because they're not humans anymore, just the other side's assets and a mean to an end. Remove the pawns, lower the casualties. It's surprisingly sound reasoning too, especially since he's basically fighting a war. It's only logical for him to go after weakened opponents he simply can't afford to let live."

"That's sick."

No kidding?!

"It's war." he repeated, solemn.

He didn't like it, never had in fact, but he had quite the extensive knowledge on armed conflict. It came from all his lessons with his father and his masked _acquaintances_.

He never liked those either.

"And Cedric?" asked Susan, visibly bracing herself for another franc analysis.

"Diggory, Azra… I don't know what to think." admitted the wizard. "Lovegood called him Nightingale – like a certain shadowy bird annoying people at meals – and remarked that he'd helped Potter steal a wand – probably the one he claims is a family heirloom – so he's clearly not on the good side of the law… except he's also cleaning up the school, turning in dark and harmful objects to the Heads and the Headmaster. With the Auror team on premise, my House has been surprisingly quiet and Hogwarts is probably at its safest in centuries. So all in all, he appears to be a positive influence. No idea where he gets his spells from, though. He doesn't seem the researcher-type, so… Potter, maybe? But then I don't know where _he_ would have learned spellcrafting."

"What about the girl? Luna? Could the spells come from her?"

Luna 'Loony' Lovegood, spells dealer?

"It's _possible_ -" he admitted. "- but highly improbable. She's just a goofy first year student, not an insane, genius spell researcher."

The line between aloofness and genius may be thin, but he was pretty certain the blonde didn't cross that threshold.

"Frankly, I'm not even sure where Lovegood fits in all of this. The way I see it, she's just a bystander who got dragged into it by Diggory."

"He tried to help her, with the bullying." recalled the redhead.

"And Professor Flitwick caught him because of it." he confirmed. "She must have felt obliged to help him back and offered to provide him with an all-purpose alibi through the whole 'revision' shebang they have going on."

"She's harmless then."

"As harmless as any first year with a lethal wand, yes."

"Compared to the other two, I mean." she scoffed. "Smartass."

"Slytherin." he corrected with a grin.

She rolled her eyes at his corny comeback.

"Alright mister Slytherin, we have a murderer, an innocent girl drawn in by the wiles of a thief, testimonies on several misdemeanors and felonies, and the entire Black/Pettigrew/You-Know-Who mess to deal with. What do you suggest?"

Now _that_ he had a ready-made answer for.

"I say we ask Susan Bones. I heard her aunt is Head of the DMLE, she's bound to have some ideas on how to handle that crisis."

The look she gave him conveyed a particularly irritated 'Seriously?'

Seriously.

"It's a reasonable answer." shrugged the wizard. "I _do_ have a few suggestions myself, but I'd like to hear your opinion first. Please, feel free to contribute to the discussion."

"... fine." huffed the witch. "Obviously, I thought about telling aunty, but anonymous tips can be magically tracked back to the sender and I'd rather not explain how I know what I know. Besides, revelations of that magnitude have the potential to backfire _severely_. We don't know how Harry would respond if he was exposed and seeing as he's already killed, I'd rather not find the answer. I _can't_ involve my aunt or her department if I want to keep them safe, and I _do_. The same goes for the Professors and other students. Most simply wouldn't believe me anyway, but those that would would get a front row seat to Harry's response and I refuse to put others in a certified killer's crosshair."

Damn, this Hufflepuff actually had a brain to go with her looks.

Theodore had honestly expected her to rush to the Owlery with a howler set to detonate in the Ministry's atrium at peak hours, but she'd clearly thought it through during all that pacing earlier.

He'd reached much the same conclusions himself. They couldn't involve the authorities, the school staff or other students, because sharing their knowledge would be like poking a nest full of angry Vampyr Mosps and wait to see if they minded.

A shame, Merlin knew what he would give to have his friends to brainstorm with.

"Besides, we don't have the full picture here." continued the redhead. "We don't know why Harry and Cedric are working together, if You-Know-You is truly alive or what Lucius Malfoy supposedly _tried_ that costed him his sanity and his life."

Knowing the deceased closet Death Eater, probably nothing good.

"Until we have a better understanding of the situation, the only thing we _can_ do is keep it to ourselves, keep our head down and discreetly verify what we can, without exposing what we know. They're hiding in plain sight, we need to do the same."

"Sounds like a plan." recognized the Slytherin. "If I can just make a few suggestions…?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Well, firstly, don't take notes. That's just asking for trouble. If you _have_ to take notes, code them extensively, then destroy them immediately once you've memorized them." he offered. "Also, we should find a way to communicate discreetly or settle on an alibi to justify meeting, else the rumor mills will just concoct some random story of us being star-crossed lovers."

"Can't we use that?" she wondered. "Let them think we're dating?"

"Not happening." he objected. "Tracey would tease me to death."

"And?"

… forget Hufflepuff, Susan should be in his House.

It seemed to be a theme, today.

"Let's look for a discreet communication method first, alright? Your plan can be our last resort."

Way, _way_ down the list.

"You're no fun." she accused.

"Focus, Susan." he said, ignoring her teasing. "Regarding the whole spying business, you should deal with your perfect prefect. My House shares more classes with the Gryffindors than yours, so I'll keep an eye on Potter. It's easier for the both of us and I'll get to conduct my other assignment."

"What other assignment?" asked the Hufflepuff, perplexed.

"Also spying on Potter, just not for us. For Greengrass." he revealed. "She had her doubts about him and has been searching for a connection with Azra for weeks."

"Really?" she frowned. "What tipped her off?"

"Of all things, Potter's face when we were shown Azra at breakfast. She called it his ' _I'm going to hurt someone'_ face, some variation of the one he reserves for Draco."

"Why exactly is the Slytherin Ice Queen so knowledgeable about the Gryffindor Golden Boy's facial expressions?"

"Best guess? She wants to get into his pants." he replied, making the witch blush. "Anyway, Blaise, Daphne, Tracey and I were keeping an eye on Potter, looking for the skeletons in his closet. Except, now that I know they're literal ones, I have to keep them all from digging any deeper before we _all_ end up in a shallow grave."

Spying on Potter while _pretending_ to spy on Potter… it wasn't going to be fun.

Especially not with Greengrass being her usual driven, stubborn self.

When the Ice Queen of Slytherin had something in mind, it was basically impossible for anyone not named Tracey Davis to derail her train of thought. And the Nott heir definitely wasn't named Tracey Davis.

He could already feel the mother of all headaches coming his way.

* * *

Neville Longbottom, usually so pleased to board the Hogwarts Express, was presently experiencing his worst ride so far, the appeasing silence he'd come to associate with the magical train shredded to smithereens courtesy of one ranting Hermione Jean Granger.

Coupled with his apprehension at spending the winter holidays back home, with his tyrannical gran – a thought he would keep to himself until his dying breath, or hers – it left the young wizard nursing a skull-splitting headache.

He didn't exactly know – nor did he especially cared about – what Harry had or hadn't done, just that his fellow wizard was supposedly holding back in class, which frustrated the bushy-haired witch to no end… and him, by extension.

"HERMIONE!" he barked, stopping her dead in her track.

She clearly hadn't expected him to react so fiercely.

Truth be told, neither had him, but it _had_ caught her attention. Now, to get the message across...

"Look, I get it. Harry's holding back. He's lying to the teachers and up until recently, he was lying to you. But what does it change?"

Her lips parted, a new rant undoubtedly forming.

He didn't let it.

"Nothing, Hermione. It changes nothing. Harry's still Harry. He's still your friend and he _still_ trusts you. Probably more than anyone, since he's not lying to you anymore."

"But he _IS_ still lying!" she shouted. "He won't answer any of my questions and he's always avoiding me."

"Okay, so lying less." he conceded. "You know what I mean."

The witch scowled, but remained silent.

"So what if the professors don't know what he can do? Harry knows and so do you. It's more than enough for him."

" _But not for me!_ " she raged. "This could have so many repercussions, Neville… keeping it a secret… No, no, it _needs_ to get out."

Awesome, so it wasn't just a matter of Harry holding back a bit in Charms or Transfiguration.

Their green-eyed friend had somehow stumbled into something absolutely massive… and a frantic Hermione was throwing him in it head first.

Thanks, Hermione.

"What about the repercussions it would have on Harry?" he tried to reason, before she could expand on what exactly the other Gryffindor had done. "You've known him for over a year now, Hermione. You know how much he dislikes his fame. Most people only ever see him as the Boy-Who-Lived and if he told everyone… whatever it is you want him to tell, he would end up under even more scrutiny. He doesn't deserve that."

The witch bit on her lower lip, clearly stuck in some kind of existential crisis.

"You're right, he doesn't." she relented, visibly torn. "But you don't understand… what he found would impact the _entire_ Wizarding World. I mean, he basically figured out -"

"No, don't -"

"- how to practice _wandless magic_."

"- tell me…" he finished lamely.

The witch had the decency to blush.

"Sorry…"

"It's alright." he sighed sadly. "Go on."

He was already knee-deep in it, might as well sink up to his neck, right?

"... remember the book he gave me on my birthday? His research notes?" she asked, already going through her pack to dig out said present.

"Kinda hard to miss, you're practically sleeping with it."

"I'm not!"

"Keep telling yourself that." he smiled.

"Whatever." she grumbled, otherwise ignoring his cheek as she presented him the aforementioned tome. "It's basically a guide, just not as explicit as our school books. A draft, in a way. A puzzle. Everything's there, if you know where to look. I had to read it _seven_ times, before it came to me. And even once you know the theory, actually casting a spell wandlessly is hard. Like, really _really_ hard. Harry told me it would be, when I cornered him – though he was a bit more rude about it – but he also said it would become easier with practice, which makes sense. I mean, it's just a skill, you know? The more you use it, the more you hone it and the better you are. I can only cast three spells right now, but -"

He tuned her out, eyes fixated on the bluebell flames she's just conjured in her open hand.

Wandless magic, simplified and accessible by… basically anyone. It was mind-blowing.

And just a teeny tiny little bit terrifying.

Neville immediately squished the sliver of envy he felt rising in him. Harry was a good friend, jealousy was unbecoming.

"Can you teach me?"

Okay, who'd say that? Who was so colossally dense as to voluntarily involve themselves in this mess of epic proportions?

"Huh… probably?" she offered, nodding to the wagon's only other occupant.

Oooo~h, _he_ was colossally dense.

Joy.

"I'm no expert, obviously, but the theory is simple enough, so I guess I _could_ teach you the basics."

"Thank you."

Stupid, what was he thinking?!

Probably something along the lines of 'I'm already pants at magic, it can't get any worse.'

Tempting Fate, even more stupid.

* * *

Weekends in Hogsmeade where usually feisty and lively, but today was to be an exception for three major reasons.

First and foremost, the winter holidays had just begun and a large majority of the students usually making the place so agitated had gone home to see their family.

The second problem came from the lovely English weather they had going on. It was presently raining cats and dogs… or sabertooths and direwolves, if one wanted to properly scale the metaphor up to scale.

Finally and that was a bloody good reason all on its own, it was _two fucking fifteen in the morning!_

And so here was Hogsmeade, a silent village drenched by the rain and battered by angry winds, inhabited by surprisingly heavy sleepers.

It was too bad, really, because if someone had actually been awake to look at the main street, they would have seen a celebrity.

Sirius Black, escaped convict, suspected Death Eater, suspected right hand man of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, suspected perpetrator of the Azkaban Massacre.

Also, a mess.

The man was currently hiding in his Animagus form – Padfoot, a wet emaciated-looking mutt whose graying fur had clearly seen better day – and dragging his worn-out self towards what was rumored to be the most haunted house in Scotland.

He knew it to be a scam, of course. There had never been any murderous ghost in the Shrieking Shack, just a really angry werewolf and the occasional animagi to keep him company.

They'd made extensive use of the place during their school years, not only to hide Moony, but also to sneak out to the nearby village whenever the need arisen. And even if, granted, the passage connecting to Honeydukes' cellar was better for that – sneaking out of Hogwarts, not hiding Moony. Merlin knew what their furry friend would have done with so much chocolate at hand - it had the slight disadvantage of being in _Honeydukes' cellar._ Plus, Sirius had always liked to play with the Whomping Willow.

The dog slipped in between two broken planks and, transforming back into his human form, made his way further inside the ruined building.

It hadn't changed one bit… but now wasn't exactly the time for reminiscing. The wizard needed to prove his innocence to the old man and warn him of Voldemort's return. Except he couldn't just waltz into the castle and ask to parley with the Headmaster. His criminally charming – and criminally wanted – mug would almost undoubtedly get him into trouble.

His only resort would be to infiltrate the school as Padfoot when most would be distracted… and as luck would have it, Yule was almost upon them. Two days from now, the remaining staff and students would partake in the traditional Christmas banquet, keeping themselves busy late into the night.

Sneaking into Albus' office would be a mere formality, then.

In the meantime, he'd have to remain here and avoid making waves… or he could add a whole new coating to the Shack's legends. He felt like howling at the moon, right about now.

The former Marauder was so used to the run-down house it never occurred to him to look at the narrow, dilapidated cellar, uninteresting as it had been back in the day.

Haaa, blissful ignorance.

* * *

"Damn, that's cheap."

It really was.

Harry hadn't expected many presents for Christmas – wasn't accustomed to receiving any, in fact – but to get a toothpick, of all things…

That worthless gift came from the Dursleys and had just been delivered by a literal early bird, Hedwig swooping in through the window at the crack of dawn, rousing him from his sleep. A half-asleep Ron rolled in his sheets, grimacing and grumbling, and Harry had to wonder if his uncle and aunt had made a similar face tying the small parcel to the owl's talon.

He was leaning toward 'yes'.

It made him smile.

Anyway, his lie in was officially over, his feathery friend affectionately nibbling his ear, requiring his attention. Might as well scratch his stubborn owl, get out of bed, take a quick shower and go grab something to appease his groaning stomach.

The wizard did just that, petting his favorite bird before walking up to his trunk. Glancing out the window, he considered the undisturbed white blanket of snow covering the landscape and grabbed an appropriate assortment of warm clothes before making his way to the communal bathroom, careful not to further disturb his only remaining roommate.

With the winter holidays, Gryffindor Tower had noticeably emptied.

Aside from Ron, the other Weasleys and a handful of upper-years, not many had elected to stay at Hogwarts. Hermione would have, but she was still pissed with him for the whole wandless magic puzzle. That and he had sorta kinda been avoiding her again…

Habits.

As for the other Houses, they were similarly desolated, with only about a dozen of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws remaining – all years included – and barely half that number for Slytherin, leaving the entire place in a sort of weird permeating silence.

All in all, the castle would be his own little playground for the foreseeable future… except that he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. There would be no roaming the corridors for him, nor mapping the lake's depths or scooping up that extremely appealing snow to throw it at someone.

The reason?

Wanting to get ready to hunt down the other horcruxes, he'd committed himself to a painfully insane training regimen, consisting mostly of cruel and unusual punishments that left him beaten, bruised and battered, if not downright bloodied.

And he'd _volunteered!_

Harry claimed temporary insanity.

Thankfully, today was a day off and any nuisances or untimely instructors claiming otherwise would be flayed alive… or dead, as the case may be.

Twenty minutes later – because he could totally hog the shower – the Gryffindor was back in his room, finding a much more awake redhead scratching Hedwig's feathers. His owl screeched at his entrance, perched imperiously on a pile of Christmas presents gathered on Ron's mattress.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." greeted his fellow wizard, before pointing at a similar stack of wrapped gifts on the contractor's own bed. "I got you your presents."

"Merry Christmas, Ron. And yeah, I can see that. Thanks man." he replied, putting away towel and pajama. "Hedwig didn't disturb you, right?"

"Nah, she kept silent until I got up." he waved away. "We're good."

"Good." smiled the daedric contractor, retrieving an owl treat from his bedside table. "Come on, girl. Let Ron open his presents."

Hedwig obliged and moved to his bed, allowing the Weasley to dive elbow-deep in his stack. Harry played with her for a while longer, ultimately letting her return to the Owlery to rest after her trip to and fro Privet Drive. Then he joined his friend in on the gift-wraps tearing fun.

Minutes went by, only disturbed by various paper-related noises.

"So, what did you get?" finally asked Ron, eyeing his friend's pile.

"You want it in alphabetical order or by increasing fun factor?"

"Second one." he chose. "I'm not Hermione."

… fair enough.

"Well, The Dursleys got me a toothpick."

"Damn, that's cheap."

"I know, right?" he laughed. "Then there's Hagrid gift, he got me a tin of treacle fudge."

He'd have to thank the half-giant, he'd completely forgotten him when he'd prepared his own presents.

Perhaps a brighter lantern? With a magelight spell or Hermione's favorite Bluebell flames? It would certainly be better than the tallow candles he used.

"Your mom made me another hand-knitted jumper and added a plum cake."

"What color, the jumper?"

"Dark blue." he showed, holding out the piece of clothing.

"Lucky you." grumbled Ron, looking at his own sempiternal brown sweater.

Right, he didn't like maroon.

"Have you tried asking for another color?"

"I… didn't want to sound like a capricious prat."

"I said asking, not demanding." Harry chuckled. "Just don't pull a first year Malfoy and your mom will probably make you another jumper."

Knowing her, she'd probably do one overnight and sent it through the mail in time for breakfast.

"Anyway, Hermione sent me this eagle-feather quill -"

Along with a masterfully composed threatening letter, preemptively written in case he decided to send her another smartass present – he hadn't – but Ron didn't need to know about that.

"- and I suppose you're the one I have to thank for this?" asked the black-haired wizard, motioning to his ' _Flying with the Cannons'_ book.

"You're welcome." smiled Ron.

Well, he was more of a Holyhead Harpies fan himself, but that was just a teenage boy's opinion – _the curves on those uniforms!_

Still, could be fun to read… if only to see how _not_ to play Quidditch.

"And then there's this." concluded the contractor, presenting a piece of jewelry.

It was a fairly simple – but admittedly expensive – silver pendant. A triangle encompassing a circle, the two forms bisected by a straight line.

"Cool necklace." assessed his fellow Gryffindor. "Who's it from?"

"I have _no_ idea." Harry lied through gritted teeth. "There wasn't any card."

Inside his head, it went something like this:

' _LUUUUUNAAAAAAAA!'_

"Should be safe, or the school elves wouldn't have delivered it." remarked Ron. "Must be a fan."

Harry almost breathed a sigh of relief at his friend dropping the matter so quickly.

He would still throttle the blonde, though.

"So, you're up for breakfast? And then we can call Hermione." offered the redhead, holding a familiar object.

Today being the anniversary of his encounter with Mora had made Harry think about the Mirror of Erised and the pocket-sized copy he'd received from his mom. He didn't use it much anymore, as he could just Step down to the Chamber, but it remained a useful communication device.

Harry had decided to share it with his friends.

Each of them had received a copy, with a partial lock on them to prevent undesired contacts. Diggory didn't need to speak to Ron any more than Hermione needed to have a conversation with his mom.

"Works for me." shrugged the wizard. "Assuming you have any place left, after all the candies you've gobbled down."

"Meh, I'll manage." shrugged the redhead, discarding yet another candy wrapper.

Okay, so that one may have been his fault.

He'd added a slightly more… personalized gift to every mirror.

A small bag of Nirnian candies for Ron, who'd already eaten about two-third of them and probably assumed them to be from the muggle world. A new notebook for Hermione, with nothing too alien or groundbreaking, just obscure and useful charms compiled from his mom's memories. He would have gladly given the soul gem containing Bellatrix to Neville, but it had already been consumed by Mora, so he'd asked Dobby to uproot some random exotic curative plant in South America. For Luna, he'd ask Mora for another copy of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem – enchantments and all - that he _really_ hoped she would hide, because he didn't want to have to explain himself to Flitwick. And for Diggory, a copy of ' _Liminal Bridges'_ \- not taunting, seriously.

The only presents he hadn't been able to choose were his parents'.

His mother was dead, so she didn't exactly _need_ anything. She was also in direct contact with a Prince of Knowledge, meaning that anything he would give her, he would technically also give to Mora as a _tribute_ \- which would be considered outside of their arrangement and wouldn't earn him anything, because daedra cheated.

His father was even deader and stuck in eternal stasis in another dimension.

The only thing he'd found was to book his day and spend it in the Chamber with them, as a family. His father would get to pseudo-live again for a time, his mother would get to celebrate with her son and husband, and Harry himself would get to enjoy his day off.

 _*Groooo~oan*_

 _... after_ breakfast.

* * *

Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore adored taking his Christmas dinner at work. No sarcasm there, he genuinely liked partaking in the annual Yule feast in Hogwarts' Great Hall.

Mostly, it was because of the low number of guests. With most of the students – and some professors - returning home for the holidays, the school's population had gone from six-hundred and forty seven to sixty four.

It made it possible to eat at a single table, students and staff mingling for the duration of the meal.

Tonight had been especially satisfying, they'd sung carols and drunk eggnogs.

Truly, nothing could possibly dampen such a good mood.

"Hey, Albus."

Except finding Sirius Black seated at his office, cue sharp intake of breath coupled with muted stupefaction.

"You sure took your time. Was there lemon pie for dessert or something?"

How was he here? Why was he here? Was he after Harry? After him? After Severus, to repeat what he'd done during the Massacre?

"Cause if there was, I want a slice."

Pop.

That was the sound of both a Hogwarts elf appearing in the room and Albus' brain's blood vessels bursting because of it.

"Mister Black asked for pie?" asked the magical butler, holding out the aforementioned delicacy.

"Thanks, little guy." smiled the _escaped convict_ , grabbing fork and plate. "You're awesome."

"Tippy is just a cook." blushed the elf.

"You're officially my favorite cook, then." practically _moaned_ Black around a mouthful of pie. "I haven't had pie in like, forever."

Why was he making idle conversation with an elf? WHY WHERE THE CASTLE'S ELVES ANSWERING IN THE FIRST PLACE?!

Something resembling a silent wail made its way out of the Headmaster's throat.

From his perch, Fawkes thrilled softly, making most of Albus' frozen mind thaw. He wouldn't be making any sentence, word or even coherent noise right now, but he didn't need that to defend himself from the _murderer_ in his office.

Alert once again – correction, _somewhat_ alert – the old wizard went to grab the Elder Wan-

"Look, you're his favorite cook too." prompted Black.

Albus' mental process came to a screeching halt.

Again.

"Huh… Master's firebird asks you to scratch him again." corrected Tippy.

"Pretty sure it wasn't that." insisted the criminal, finishing his pastry.

Fawkes sang a second time, trading his own perch for Albus' heavy desk.

"He is insisting."

"Fine." sighed the man. "But you're setting a bad example for all of phoenix-kind."

Sirius Black, escaped convict, Death Eater, right hand man of Voldemort, perpetrator of the Azkaban Massacre … hadn't flinched nor clawed his ears out of his skull, despite having heard Fawkes' thrill two ti-

A third melody filled the air.

Make that three times in under a minute.

"He does not." translated the elf. "Firebirds are great and deserve scratches."

"Wow, you're worse than Prongs."

Another thrill, this one pressing and irritated.

"... Tippy is not repeating that."

"I take it back, you're worse than me."

Albus watched, utterly poleaxed, as a reluctant – yet smiling – Sirius Black actively petted his phoenix.

A pure being who would never let the person behind the Massacre in under five hundred meters of him and would probably rather have a burning day than associate with such evil.

It all led to one simple and dreadful conclusion.

"You're… innocent."

He had no idea _how_ he'd managed to pronounce those words.

They actually hurt.

His former pupil, still stroking his familiar's feathers, gave him a tired smile. It was a hollow one, made out of sadness and resignation.

"I don't _feel_ innocent."

Wha…?

"Just… go on, take a look." invited Sirius, locking eyes with him. "It'll be easier… and sorry for the mess, Azkaban did a number on me."

Albus did.

" _Legilimens_."

Countless memories instantly assaulted the old wizard. Flashes, bits and pieces of events. Shredded, entangled, some of them blurry, none in order or with any form of coherent link between them.

 _Diagon Alley. Crowded corridors. A rat disappearing down a sewer system. Orion and Walburga. The Gryffindor Common Room. A plate of food passed under his cell's door. A Quidditch match. A swirling purple orb. A werewolf. Pomona. Fawkes' cry. Lily holding her newborn son. Rodolphus dying. The Shrieking Shack. Uncontrolled laughter. James turning into a stag. Condemning hisses. His first kiss. Horace. Suggesting a switch of Secret Keeper. Grimmauld place. Remus bedridden after a full moon. Little Harry on his father's broom. James' corpse. A map of Hogwarts. Lucius dying. The Order. Fleamont and Euphemia. Peter blowing up a street. Another partner. A dementor passing his cell. the smell of snakes. Severus. The Sorting Hat singing. His first time. Minerva. His first prank. A shadowy portal flowing into existence. Hagrid holding little Harry. Regulus. A stunning spell coming at him. A bubbling potion. Bellatrix dying. The Whomping Willow. Filius. His flying motorcycle. A severed finger. Silvanus. Buying his wand. Playing in the forest. An intruder standing in Azkaban. Lily's corp-_

Albus ended his spell, sobered by the chaotic visions and what they'd revealed.

Pettigrew's treason, Sirius' misplaced guilt and the Massacre's horrifying truth… Voldemort had returned.

* * *

When Severus was woken up by a clearly suicidal individual pounding on his quarters' door at three thirty in the morning, he was determined to curse the thoughtless idiot six ways to Sunday.

Carefully extracting himself from Septima's embrace – she'd been extra clingy these days, he blamed the spirit of Christmas – the Potion Master exited his bedroom and answered the door, wand in hand – also, _Sectusempra_ on the lips.

"Severus."

Damn it.

"Albus." he greeted back, masking his annoyance. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Voldemort is back." his employer casually dropped. "He committed the Massacre."

… idiot.

Not only was it impossible, what reasons would the Dark Lord have to remove his own henchmen?

"This is preposterous." he scoffed. "Black did it."

"I know for certain that Sirius is innocent of those crimes." Albus assured him. "As was he of the Potters' deaths for which Peter Pettigrew framed him."

What? How could he possibly believe…?

Oh.

"He's contacted you."

"Indeed." nodded the Headmaster. "I found him waiting in my office when I returned from dinner. He was _petting_ Fawkes."

He had the phoenix's approval… the jerk truly _was_ innocent.

The desire to hex the next passersby returned full force.

"A legilimency probe proved his claims." continued his fellow wizard. "Furthermore, he clearly saw Voldemort murder his Death Eaters."

"He _saw_ him? Are you certain?"

"I am. Tom was fully cloaked in what appears to be basilisk skin and ostentatiously used parseltongue, alongside several powerful and worrying new abilities."

Expect it _couldn't be_ _the Dark Lord._

"Explain this, then."

Severus rolled up his sleeve and displayed his Dark Mark.

It was still gray.

Albus starred in muted incredulity at the faded brand of his protege's youthful indiscretions.

"How…?"

"I would not want to speculate, but I'd say that a new player has entered the game." offered the Head of House. "And whoever perpetrated the Azkaban Massacre clearly doesn't have the same restrain as you."

Or much restrain at all, judging by the eleven cadavers.

"Another Dark Lord…" heavily breathed the Headmaster.

Seeing as he hadn't murdered the entire prison population or leveled the island, Severus would rather rank him as a ruthless justiciar, but the older wizard had an annoyingly black-or-white view of the world.

"Should I try to contact my fellow Death Eaters?" he asked. "Have them on the lookout for this cloaked person?"

"Do so." agreed Albus. "I will visit Alastor, see if he's heard anything of interest."

"And the rest of the Order?"

"I will contact them personally."

"Very well." he accepted. "If you'll excuse me, I will get to it."

"Of course." nodded the Leader of the Light. "Good luck, Severus. Please, do keep me updated."

A door was closed, a sigh was heaved.

In all honesty, Severus wanted nothing more than to return to bed, but duty called and he had no choice but to comply.

Walking up to his chimney, he grabbed a handful of Floo-powder and made a call.

"Nott Manor."

The first of a _long_ series.

* * *

The green powder burst into emerald flames on command, magically connecting two distant fireplaces into an instant communication network.

"Kingsley."

"Amelia." replied her fellow Auror. "I thought you were on leave."

"I am." confirmed the Head of the DMLE. "Something came up."

"Clearly. How can I help you?"

"I need you to dig out the bureau's file on Sirius Black, discreetly. I want his trial transcripts."

"Do I want to know why?"

"The Chief Warlock expressed a desire to see them." she replied evenly, remembering the unexpected floo-call. "And they are missing from my own files."

Something that Susan, of all person, had remarked.

At her return from Hogwarts, her niece had, completely out of the blue, professed a desire to join the service after her schooling. Probably a passing fad, but Amelia had humored her and allowed her to look into a few cases to see how things were done… including Black's.

Susan had pointed out the absence of transcripts almost immediately.

It could be an honest mistake.

It probably _was_ an honest mistake.

But the timing of Dumbledore's sudden request was decidedly odd. There was something going on here, she would bet her wand on it.

"I'll see what I can do." promised Kingsley. "Take care, Amelia."

"You too, Kingsley. And thank you." she ended the call.

"Auntie!" yelled Susan from her office. "I think I found something on the Massacre!"

… it was official, 99% of her underlings were less competent than a twelve year old.

"I'm coming." she sighed.

Holidays were exhausting, she couldn't wait to go back to work.

* * *

Theodore Nott numbered among the few Slytherin students who had elected to remain at Hogwarts for the winter holidays. Keeping him company in the Common Room were Crabbe and Goyle, with whom he didn't speak, a first year and fourth year orphans he didn't even know the names of, and a sixth year couple who'd decided to make a marathon out of the school's broom closets.

Suffice to say, he preferred to be left alone. Especially today, when he needed to occupy his mind with something other than the stupid anniversary or his father's annual venomous letter.

And so he'd retreated to the library, where he'd stayed hidden for the better part of the day, perusing through an untold amount of grimoires to update the list of everything he knew or suspected about Potter, Diggory and Lovegood.

The current version went something like this:

Harry Potter

\- soldier mindset / spell creator? / Heir of Slytherin?

\- pragmatic / vengeful / sacrificial hero complex

\- exorcised Professor Quirrell?

\- thoughts manipulation? / illusions?

\- Azkaban Massacre / Patronus?

\- basilisk / parselmouth? / Chamber of Secrets?

\- portals

\- second wand / hazard?

Cedric Diggory / Azra Nightwielder

\- thief / vigilante? / Nightingale? / spell creator?

\- extremely agile

\- muggle lock picking

\- shadow manipulation

\- ward-bypassing apparition / stepping?

Luna Lovegood

\- support / alibi

\- insane?

\- mischievous

\- shielding spells? / illusions?

\- short-term prescience?

The second year wizard huffed tiredly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

There were way too many question marks on that mental list of his and he wasn't getting any closer to the answers. He didn't even have the slightest idea of _where_ he could possibly get them.

Certainly not in one of the library's books, anyway.

Well, maybe in the restricted section, but that part had 'restricted' in its name for a reason. It was under lock and key twenty-four seven, and there was no approaching it without written permission.

Thinking about it, Professor Snape would probably grant him a signed slip if he asked properly... but letting his Head of House even know about his researches sounded like a really bad idea.

It would be less problematic to find another way in and _where had that book come from?!_

Gold filled lettering etched on a black leather cover holding hundreds of pages together, a thick tome had appeared before him, seemingly out of thin air.

Which was absolutely mind-boggling, because the bloody thing was – for some _freaking reason –_ ostensibly displayed on an ornate pedestal, set right in the middle of the main reading room.

Theodore stared at the ghostly volume, list temporarily forgotten to factor in this new mystery.

What was that book? Why was he only registering its presence now? Who had written it? Had the same person placed it here? When had they done so? And WHY HAD MADAME PINCE JUST TAKEN A _CLEARLY_ UNCONSCIOUS SIDESTEP TO AVOID IT?!

The Nott Heir briefly contemplated tactically retreating to the Slytherin Dorms and ignoring the spooky spectral opus forever and ever.

It would be easy, he'd just have to avoid the library for his remaining five and a half years of schooling and turn a blind eye to this very _ordinary_ , very _forgettable_ spectral opus that couldn't be all _that_ important anyw- _Merlin Dammit!_

The wizard cursed his inherited curiosity, gathered his supposedly non-existent courage, kicked his self-preservation out the window and stepped closer to the offensive item.

' _On the origins of Parselmouths: influences of magical lineage and genetic predisposition on the learning of snake language'_

… what?

 _by Harry James Potter_

What?

 _Padomaic Editions – August 1994_

WHAT?!

As his previously discarded mental list gained some fresh and confusing entries, Theo equally acquired the sudden conviction that someone, somewhere, was screwing with him on purpose.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling.


	13. I've Got A Gift For You

Welcome back, dear readers, to "Knowledge Comes At A Price".

"I know they're not as nice as the one you gave to me, I hope that they will do."

* * *

I've Got A Gift For You

* * *

Harry Potter was a wizard.

His father was a wizard, his mother was a witch, he was studying at a school of witchcraft and wizardry, had a magic wand or two, a flying broom, robes that nobody but a wizard or an overly enthusiastic trick-or-treater would ever wear in this day and age, a potion cauldron, an owl familiar and a dark lord out for his blood. Also, a demon god from another realm plugged into his brain.

Yep, Harry Potter was definitely a wizard.

So could someone please explain to him why in Julianos' name he was currently participating in a sword fight?

"Because you asked for it." helpfully provided Hermaeus Mora.

He most certainly hadn't!

Well, not like that anyway… not exactly… sort of… okay, he had, but he had his reasons. Three of them, to be precise.

When his nightmarish daedric guardian had consumed the soul fragment once held in Ravenclaw's little trinket, it had revealed the existence of that many more horcruxes, formed of various historical relics appropriated by Voldemort.

The first one had been a ring, an heirloom of the House of Gaunt, mounted with the freaking Resurrection Stone. Tom Riddle had acquired it during his Hogwarts' years from his deranged uncle Morfin Gaunt's paralyzed body, after framing the man for a triple homicide.

The second one had been a cup, more specifically Helga Hufflepuff's renowned chalice. Passed down the Founder's line, it had ultimately been stolen and corrupted through the murder of its latest owner, Hepzibah Smith, in 1946.

Salazar Slytherin's locket, the third horcrux, had once belonged to the House of Gaunt. It had then been sold by Merope Gaunt, Tom's mother, bought by Hepzibah Smith – her again – and reappropriated by the dark wizard when he'd murder the witch.

Harry was a practical boy and would have gladly disposed of all three of them in a row, but sometimes, things had to be prioritized. Not only was the Stone infinitely more dangerous than mere soul shards, the Padomaic artifact being sullied by a moron could potentially anger the Dread Father and the Gryffindor much preferred his reality not returned to primordial sludge.

He'd consecutively ditched Filius Flitwick, with whom he'd been hanging out with at the time, and Shadow-stepped all the way to the Gaunt's family house in Little Hangleton, where the ring had been secured behind layers upon layers of parseltongue-activated defenses, deadly curses and debilitating wards.

And therein laid the problem.

Actually retrieving the cursed piece of jewelry had been tiring work then, but it had been feasible. Getting close to the Cup though, would have been nigh impossible. Primarily because its location hadn't been all that clear.

When he'd made his fifth phylactery, Tom had still been annoyingly holding unto the third one with the firm intention to one day give it to a trusted follower, which meant Snape, Malfoy, Bellatrix and maybe Greyback. Voldy being batshit crazy, but not crazy enough to put all his eggs in the same basket, Harry had bet on Bellatrix.

Still, a doubt had remained and heavily influenced the contractor's decision to raid Azkaban, murder all the Death Eaters held there and capture their sick, twisted black souls. Having Mora assimilate the entire existence of Voldemort's little minions had clearly been the fastest way to locate the corrupted Founder relic - and netted him a nice little bonus in the tens of thousands range.

Good news, his intuition had been spot on, the crazy sycophant had it. Bad news, she'd been mental enough to store it in her Gringotts' vault. As in, goblin-controlled, thief-hating, rumored-to-have-dragons-in-it Gringotts.

Harry wasn't touching that with a sixty foot pole.

But neither was he going after the necklace, kept in a cave protected by blood wards, hundreds of bloated inferi and a potion equivalent of the treatment he'd been giving to Lucius.

Hence his current predicament.

Obtaining either of those horcrux being downright impossible at the time, Harry had focused on his training instead. Emphasis on training, he'd walked up to his instructor and asked to be trained! Not systematically targeted for days by a master swordsman with a razor-sharp blade, as effective as that may be.

And yet, here he was, desperately defending against a master swordsman with a razor-sharp blade.

"Why are you complaining?" asked the clearly disinterested Prince. "Basic swordsmanship is a valuable skill set for sentient bipeds and you are gaining in combat awareness."

A good point, that Harry would usually full-heartedly agree with. After all, in just a week and a half, the Gryffindor had already learned how to hold a blade without unintentionally severing his own fingers, been drilled on acceptable stances and been taught some basic combat maneuvers. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

There was just an itsy-bitsy issue with this entire hands-on training thing, namely that -

"He's actually trying to kill me!"

Or harm him grievously, at the very least. The wizard had already lost an obscene amount of blood that rivaled or exceeded what he'd lost when working on the Chamber and the altar.

"I thought that was the point?"

But clearly, the daedra wasn't all that concerned with his contractor's potential death, or had simply stopped caring when Harry had rejected his most reasonable offer of easy experience and chosen to work for it instead.

"It wasn't!"

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, learning through practice without spending any of his hard-won points. He was still paying for that mistake. Mostly in blood, sweat and tears. Also, the occasional ribbon of flesh. Also also, shredded outfits. So many shredded outfits.

On a completely related note, he'd become fairly proficient at the repairing charm… and healing spells. No, seriously, he'd begun to use Close Wounds a few days into his training. That thing was usually cast by Nirnian healers to deal with major physical traumas like spinal damage, severe internal bleeding, impromptu amputations, third and fourth-degree burns, organ failures and other life-threatening injuries. And he was using it to stay alive during training! How messed up was that?

"Very."

"Not helping!" growled the daedric contractor, clumsily redirecting a strike that would have otherwise bisected him - it wasn't the first one, not by a long shot.

The next strike came and Harry's communication mirror chose that exact moment to vibrate in his pocket. He stumbled and ghostly steel met flesh, making him hiss a curse.

"That was sloppy."

… Hermaeus was surprisingly talkative lately, was he bored or something?

The wizard, still dodging and parrying and steering blows away from his tender skin, switched to a one-handed grip and tried to retrieve the enchanted device, despite the ongoing assault. Several light wounds and near misses later, he finally managed to answer and barked a most inspired 'What?!' at the reflective surface, too late realizing who he'd just snapped at.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" his mother screamed back. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! SNEAKING INTO AZKABAN? KILLING PEOPLE? YOU GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT YOUNG MAN, OR I'LL HAVE DOBBY RETRIEVE YOU! AND CALL YOUR FATHER!"

The call ended abruptly, leaving the wizard slightly shell-shocked and wide open for an attack that left a deep gash on his neck. He hurriedly pressed a glowing palm on it, trying to stem the abundant blood flow.

Or should he?

Certainly, death by blood loss would be less painful than whatever his mom would do… right? It seemed more appealing anyway.

* * *

"What a mess." mused James Potter as he felt the summoning end, slowly relinquishing its grip on his soul.

Being introduced to this entire daedric business hadn't been enough of an ordeal, he had to learn that his son had rendered Lucius Malfoy insane, turned him against his family, infiltrated the second bleakest prison in the Wizarding World, murdered Malfoy and ten other Death Eaters and unintentionally blamed it on his fugitive of a godfather who already had several charges of manslaughter pinned on him and everyone convinced he'd been the dark idiot's second - their bluff had worked too well.

But the worst part of this entire charade was that, deep down, James understood his son's actions. He didn't approve, clearly, but he understood.

Harry wanted to live his life. Riddle and his goons were a threat to that. Harry had logically elected to remove the threat.

It was a perfectly valid reaction. Everyone would have done the exact same thing, given the opportunity.

How many men, women and children had Lucius killed in the war? Bellatrix? Dolohov? How many lives had been blown out, twisted and ruined by the Death Eaters? How many persons would sleep better at night, knowing that these monsters had been put down? And WHY DID IT ALL HAVE TO FALL ON THE SHOULDERS OF HIS TWELVE YEARS OLD SON?!

What a mess.

* * *

The winter holidays were finally over, students were boarding the Hogwarts Express and Susan Bones was trying not to look at Cedric Diggory and his family.

She wanted to scream. Grab them by the shoulders, shake them senseless and SCREAM in their face.

Did they have any idea who their son was? What he was doing?

Probably not.

Infuriating.

But again, she herself didn't know that much.

Cedric was a thief and was involved in some kind of silent war against Voldemort with Harry Potter, who was murdering Death Eaters in his spare time. Luna Lovegood was in on it too and… that was basically it.

Seriously, that was it.

Harry was a killer, Cedric was a thief and Luna was covering for them. That was the extent of her knowledge so far.

Wait, no, she'd also confirmed Sirius Black's lack of a trial with her aunt. And since Harry had been behind the Massacre, his godfather's innocence was pretty much a given now.

Alright, now that was it.

A handful of facts, without any depth or substance, against an ocean of unanswered questions.

She wondered if Theodore had had better luck, studying Harry over the holidays. She could do with some good news.

* * *

Escaped convict Sirius Black was feeling nostalgic, watching from afar as the Hogwarts Express rolled into the station, kids soon pouring out of it in an excited, chirping mass.

He wasn't quite certain what had prompted this latest excursion, Harry wasn't even among them - something he knew partly from Albus and partly from having seen the kid go swimming in the Black Lake in the mornings… bloody hell, his godson was clinically mental, it was freaking December! Well, January now, but his point still stood.

Anyway, the student body was back, school would begin again and Sirius was painfully conflicted about what to do with his sorry, furry ass, beside dragging it back to the Shrieking Shack this instant.

When he'd escaped from Azkaban, he'd had a pretty clear objective in mind, warn Dumbledore of Voldemort's return. And he'd done so, successfully proving his innocence to the headmaster in the process.

Which left him with absolutely nothing to do.

The old man had promised to look into clearing his name, but politics were a mess and the animagus wasn't in any position to help. A kiss on sight order had been issued on him after the Massacre, signed by Fudge as current Minister of Magic. And such decrees were always magically enforced, meaning that they were absolute and could only be revoked by the Minister himself or his acting replacement.

That was, if the jackass was ever dismissed from office, which would take something in the magnitude of the Heir to a Most Noble and Ancient House being thrown for years in maximum security Azkaban without trial to happen. Which, granted, just happened to be the case here, but was still unprovable because he'd be kissed on sight if he ever surrendered to anyone.

Technically speaking, Albus was already breaking the law something fierce on his behalf. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he was legally obligated to arrest wanted criminals on sight… good thing it had been the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW he'd met on Christmas night. Yay for multiple offices!

More seriously – hah! – his current situation was particularly irksome.

He'd been here for thirteen days. Thirteen days he'd spent confined to the Shrieking Shack in his human form, only ever going outside in his animagus one. Thirteen days during which he'd pillaged Hogsmeade's bins, hunted small critters in the forest, bathed in the lake – December! Harry was nuts – and generally made himself scarce, avoiding human contact and the occasional centaur.

And it was showing.

He was painfully bored. Staying in the run-down cabin wasn't a viable long-term solution and he was getting tired of eating leftovers or rats – Wormtail being the exception, he'd happily eat that backstabbing bastard.

The only realistic choice he had would be to relocate, move someplace safe where he could actually live a little and where no one would be able to track him down.

The obvious solution was to leave the country altogether, but… Voldemort.

Grimmauld Place had crossed his mind too, because of the Fidelius charm on the property. Except that the ward had been anchored on grandfather Arcturus and had failed when he'd died last year, so the secure location wasn't secure at all. On top of, you know, him absolutely hating the place and very possibly going stir-crazy in under a week if he was ever stuck there.

Friends and family were the next logical prospects, but Remus was off somewhere in the Middle-East – working part-time as a dark creatures expert/magical pests controller, according to Albus – and Andromeda's daughter was a trainee Auror, so crashing at his cousin's place was out of the question too. And Narcissa… yeah, no. Not with all the papers blaming him for her husband's murder.

He couldn't stay with Order members either, because most worked for the Ministry, had companions and/or children that he wouldn't dare endanger, or were insufferable jackasses – looking at you, Diggle.

So really, going muggle seemed to be his only choice. And while he knew more than most purebloods, due in large parts to Lily, Remus and his own teenage rebellion, he was still ignorant of a great many things.

Conclusion, as necessary as it was, his cultural exile was going to suck majorly.

Now, from what he remembered, the Express spent the night at Hogsmeade and only returned to London early in the morning. He would stay in the shack for an hour or two, scavenge something to eat and make his way into the station, where he would slip into the train. By that time tomorrow, he would be on the Muggle side of London, out of reach of all the pureblood idiots and mostly safe from other magicals. Also, penniless.

Hurray.

A yawn escaped the grim's throat and he lengthened his stride, eager to reach his hideout and the nap that awaited him there.

He would never leave the school grounds.

* * *

It was the 3rd of January 1993, the Hogwarts Express had recently pulled into Hogsmeade's station and a second year Gryffindor by the name of Neville Longbottom was warily entering the Gryffindor Common Room, half-hiding behind Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

He wasn't nervous or anything, honest.

It's just that he had a certain young woman by the name of Hermione Jean Granger looking for him to talk shop and he'd elected to postpone this discussion for the time being, preferably indefinitely.

Alright, so maybe he was nervous.

But it didn't matter, because everything was going to be fine. The staircase was right there, it was a matter of meters. He was going to climb it three steps at a time, barricade himself in his bed, pretend to be dead to the world for the rest of the night and let Neville-from-tomorrow-morning deal with his inquisitive friend. Every man for himself and all that.

"Neville. Dean. Seamus."

AMBUU~USH!

Like an unspeakable horror crawling out from some dark abyss, the bushy-haired girl suddenly and inexplicably stood in their path, virtually materializing out of nowhere - had Azra taught her his own brand of Apparition or something?

"Good evening, boys." she greeted them, sounding positively giddy. "I'm borrowing Neville, okay? Okay."

And before any of them could complain or even react at all, the witch was already dragging her resigned friend by the sleeve towards an isolated alcove under the girls' staircase.

"So?" she asked eagerly, eyes shining with curiosity. "How did it go?"

Neville's only response was a tired groan as he slumped against the wall.

"You're stuck, aren't you?" accurately guessed his friend. "Where exactly? Are you having trouble feeling your magic? Picturing the spells? Is it the actual casting? Or -"

He so hadn't wanted to have this discussion tonight.

* * *

Blaise expected many a joyful or curious behavior from his friend Theodore upon their reunion, having been apart for the last week and a half. But that...

"I'm going to mess with Daphne and you're going to help me."

No 'Blaise', no 'hey', no 'welcome back', just an out-of-nowhere declaration and a finger fiercely pointed in his face.

That was unconventional.

Hear him out, the guy was random and energetic as all hell, always had been, but he remained predictable. Always appearing as the stoic, reflected, stereotypical cold-blooded pureblood in public and turning into a bubbly, enthusiastic goofball while in private, switching topic mid-sentence, his thoughts going all over the place.

But he was never ever impolite, nor screwing with people just for the sake of it. Meaning that there had to be a purpose behind this decidedly abrupt welcome, but the Zabini heir couldn't, for the love of Morgana, discern it.

"Can you elaborate?" he requested, intrigued and rather unsettled, moving to his bed to go through his luggage. "I'm obviously missing some context here and would very much appreciate to know what I'd be forfeiting my life for."

Because let's be honest, going against Greengrass was ultimately a political and social suicide, if not an actual one.

"She's looking into Potter." provided his friend. "She needs to stop."

"O… kay?!" drawn out the dark-skinned boy, wondering where this completely unhelpful explanation was coming from.

Really, he couldn't see any reason for Theo to react so strongly, unless he'd… actually… figured it out.

Dang it.

It made so much sense. The nosy yet discreet Nott Heir, stuck in a castle for two weeks with an unsuspecting target, inadvertently uncovers the truth behind the Gryffindor's recent behavior, to his own consternation. Now in possession of what has to be twisted, possibly harmful secrets, he consecutively decides to protect his friends Daphne and Tracey from the former's hubris - really, overwhelming curiosity - by actively working against them.

It was an all too noble, all too understandable decision, because the brunette occasionally lacked common sense - often during situations that would actually require some measure of it - while the blonde was clearly biased by her unadmitted interest in a certain green-eyed Gryffindor. If the situation was as dire as Theodore's reaction made it out to be, the girls definitely needed to be kept out of it, willingly or not.

It was just too bad that his fellow Slytherin's protection didn't extend to his own freaking roommate for some reason!

Whatever, he was involved now, better go with the flow.

"So, what do we do?"

Also, he was never indulging that nagging desire to ask what exactly Theodore had witnessed during the holidays. Curious he may be, but his sense of self-preservation was infinitely more developed.

* * *

Dobby the house elf was a member of a proud symbiotic race whose entire existence revolved around the concept of work. He lived to serve and served to lived, his very existence anchored to the magical - read chaotic - energies of his bound family, the Potters.

So when young master Harry had asked him to keep an eye on Sirius Back, a friend of master James, Dobby had been more than happy to obey.

He'd just made a slight miscalculation.

It was dreadfully boring!

House elves liked working, they thrived on it. And while keeping watch over the dog-man was important to the family, it required no actual effort from the small being beside the occasional teleport. Spying on old master had been just as dull, but at least he'd got to see him panic and sweat and scream and flail his arms about uselessly.

But watching a dog-man sleep… yeah, not entertaining.

At all.

Especially annoying was the fact that he could be cleaning up the Chamber right now, or buying books around the country for Mistress Lily, or a million other things. There was just so much to do… but no, he had to be stuck in some windswept cabin, watching a mutt drool and growl in his sleep.

Dobby wanted to bang his head against a wall so much right now, but Mistress Lily had forbidden it. Maybe he could bang the dog-man's head against a wall instead? Wait, no, it would alert the dog-man to his presence and Master Harry had forbidden that too.

And speaking of the dog-man, when had he learned to go invisible? No, wrong question. The dog-man didn't have a wand, probably didn't know how to do magic without one and the daedric energy in the air was so thick now that it would have blanketed his form, making him quite perceptible to Dobby anyway.

Still, he wasn't where Dobby had left him, so something had to have happened. And if he couldn't be invisible, then the dog-man was probably gone. Yep, 'where was he?', that was a better question.

… oh… ooooooh!

Oops.

The panicking house elf zeroed in on the - thankfully - nearby magical signature of his flea-ridden drooling charge and popped down to the shack's cellar.

The thing that instantaneously jumped out was that the crow lady's altar had finally been completed; Dobby could feel the gleaming portal in its center, leaking shadows from Evergloam like a font of everlasting ink. But that, in itself, wasn't a problem. Dobby wasn't supposed to involve himself in birdy sir's business, only prevent the dog-man from doing it himself by accident.

And that was the problem, because the idiot Black had clearly involved himself, judging from his prone canine form lying on the ground, heavy wisps of darkness rolling around him like fog. That and the multiple stab wounds he'd come down with, the slowly expanding pool of blood and the pair of birdies hovering over him holding conjured daggers - had they reproduced?

"Dobby?" one of them recognized him. "Are you wearing a butler suit?! Wait, not important. What are you doing here?"

"Dobby was asked by master Harry to protect the dog-man from himself, but birdy sir killed him." the elf informed him, not sounding particularly sad, merely annoyed. "Master Harry will be annoyed with Dobby."

"What? Why would Potter ask you to… wait, dog-man? Is that Sirius Black? Did I just stab Potter's godfather?!"

"Birdy sir did." confirmed Dobby, almost serenely. "Master Harry will be annoyed with birdy sir too."

"... I'm dead."

* * *

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt was an accomplished wizard and highly skilled duelist. He'd lived through the last wizarding war, had faced several more dark wizards since then and was very close to becoming Senior Auror.

It did nothing to stop him from feeling slightly anxious when he knocked on Amelia Bones' office's door. He didn't particularly like to be the bearer of bad news, especially when reporting to his boss.

"Come in."

The wizard braced himself and proceeded through the door, letting it close behind him. The built-in silencing and security charms immediately settled back around the room.

"Amelia." he greeted the witch.

"Kingsley." she returned. "You're here about Black's transcripts, I suppose?"

"In a way."

He retrieved the aforementioned felon's shrunken file in his pocket and returned it to its proper size, handing it to an intrigued Lady Bones. The woman quickly perused the documents, before raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"That's it?"

"That's all I found, yes. There may be more in the Minister's archives or the Department or Mystery, but I don't exactly have the appropriate level of clearance to look there."

"Still no trial transcripts. Bagnold or the Department would have sealed them, but why?" she mused softly, before raising her voice as she put the folder away. "Thank you for this, Kingsley. I'll look into it the first chance I get."

"Anytime." replied the man, eyeing the pile of paperwork occupying half her desk.

The bloody thing had the tendency to pile up during weekends and holidays. The first chance she would get probably wouldn't be anytime soon.

"Fair warning, I'm having Scrimgeour remove you from the Hogwarts rotation and reassign you to the Massacre task team."

"Alright, thanks for the heads up. Who's replacing me?"

He wasn't one to discuss orders, Amelia probably had a good reason for this. Still, he would have liked to return to school for a bit and maybe catch a glimpse of the infamous Azra Nightwielder.

"Davis."

"Works for me."

The guy was a pretty good Auror, really down to earth.

"Anything I should now about the case?"

"I'll have someone drop the main file at your desk later. For now, take a look at this." she instructed, passing him a filled sheet of paper.

"Field notes, from one… Nymphadora Tonks. She's one of the rookies, right?"

"The metamorphmagus." confirmed his boss.

"Alright. Teamed up with Savage and Harlow, tasked with gathering testimonies." he read. "Sudden agitation among the victims, talking and shouting about... their returning Master?"

His head snapped up to the Head of the DMLE, who returned his gaze, impassive. 'Go on.' her eyes seemed to say. 'You ain't seen nothing yet.'

He took a short breath and pressed on.

"So, Malfoy confessed to attempted murder for some reason. The prisoners felt a drop in temperature –"

How? It was Azkaban, the place was already stone cold, for Merlin's sake.

"– and heard hissing… hissing?!"

He'd hissed that one.

"Screams, lowering in volume as the murders progressed. The temperature recovered and something growled. The guards arrived shortly thereafter." he finished nervously. "Did I just read what I think I did?"

"If you mean a witness report claiming that Voldemort came back from the dead and murdered his former disciples, then yes." clarified the witch, ignoring his shudder. "As you imagine, Mrs. Tonks' report went entirely ignored by her entire team. I'd assume, partly because of its content and partly because of her Mother's maiden name. Andromeda being a disowned Black, her daughter's claims can be seen as biased after Sirius' disappearance and Bellatrix's death. Her field notes were conveniently removed from the bureau's file by Lead Auror Ashford."

"But not from your own copy." he guessed. "Auto-updating?"

"And charmed to prevent evidence tampering and accidents." she completed. "As you can see, it has its uses."

"This is accurate, then? He could actually be back?"

Please, say no. Please, say NO!

"As accurate as Mrs. Tonks believes it to be, I'd say."

That's fine, it wasn't a yes.

"As for him possibly being back, under normal circumstances, I would have to say no. But –"

Dammit!

"– between that seemingly-benevolent thief in Hogwarts, the castle's magic going awry and affecting the entire area, and the Unspeakables being even more tight-lipped than usual, I'm not completely dismissing the idea." she reasoned, sounding quite displeased with her conclusion. "That's why I want you on the case. Talk with trainee Tonks the instant you switch post, go over her entire report with her. I want details, accurate testimonies. Go back to Azkaban and question the prisoners again if you have to, I need to know what mess we're dealing with here. And try to be discreet, I don't need Scrimgeour or Fudge breathing down my neck."

Kingsley acquiesced absentmindedly, bid his superior goodbye and hurried back to his own workplace in a sort of dazed trance. That freaking report had wreaked havoc on his mental capabilities and he had difficulties just thinking straight. So much so, that he honestly couldn't tell if he was actually waiting for his transfer or seriously dreading it.

Maybe both...

* * *

Peter Pettigrew, better known to his - former - friends as Wormtail, was a thirty-two years old rat animagus masquerading as Scabbers, the most common pet of an unsuspecting pureblood family.

While that alone made for a strange biography indeed, one then had to factor in that Peter was a traitorous Order of the Phoenix member and secretly marked Death Eater, could claim a kill tally of twelve and had devotedly kept his fallen master's wand on his person since October the 31th, 1981.

He was also in very, VERY big trouble.

Let's rewind a little, to that crucial Halloween night.

Peter, having just witnessed his master's vaporization - from afar, he wasn't that stupid - had rushed into the house, grabbed the still smoking wand and made a run for it, away from the cooling corpses of his former friends, the set of empty robes and the bawling reminder of his cruel betrayal.

Sirius had caught up to him shortly thereafter and Wormtail, realizing that one more deception wouldn't make any difference, had loudly accused him of selling the Potters to his master, framing the Black heir for his own perfidy. He'd then promptly killed a bunch of nearby muggles and escaped through the sewers, leaving behind a single finger as proof of his demise.

The responding Auror team had found Sirius laughing like a madman in the middle of the destroyed, gore-tainted street and thrown him in Azkaban without so much as a trial. Meanwhile, Peter had gone into hiding, wormed his way into the Weasley family as their undoubtedly innocent yet strangely long-lived pet.

He'd been a constant in their lives ever since.

The redheads were just so naive. Never looking too closely at his behavior or wondering why their pet didn't seem to age properly, never even suspecting that they were housing a murderer.

Even better, the kids gave him an in on whatever happened at Hogwarts - the youngest son, Ron, even being friend with James and Lily's son… and wasn't that the strangest and most welcomed coincidence ever - the mother was an inexhaustible source of gossips and the father worked for the ministry and had something of a loose tongue around his family. And every one of them disregarded his presence when discussing sensitive topics, putting Peter in the most ideal of positions to spy on the entire Wizardry community.

It had been particularly helpful after the whole thing with Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone, last year. Once again, Ron had forgotten about him and discussed the topic at length with Harry. It had been unfortunate that the boys and that Granger girl had managed to stop his master - almost accidently, from what he'd understood - but at least Peter had had the confirmation that he was indeed still alive, somewhere and planning his resurrection. Something which had both thrilled and scared him senseless.

Still, he hadn't been in any position to help, not having the esoteric knowledge or magical ability that a complete restoration would require, from a wraith-like state to a physical body. Honestly, he wouldn't even have known how to go about it.

All he could do was stay around, sleep, get fed, spy on everyone and everything and wait for an opportunity to present itself, some way to help his master's return. Because the Dark Lord would return, one way or another, the animagus had been certain of it.

Preferably, with his help.

Even more preferably, without Wormtail having to compromise himself too much or risk his life, or physical integrity, or magical one. He liked being alive, whole and magically capable.

But until that hypothetical happenstance, he'd just planned on waiting and getting on with his boring, inconspicuous rodent life.

Which he could totally do because nobody had actually been looking for him, or even knew that he was alive. The only one who did know of his survival - and duplicity - was Padfoot, but after the whole Azkaban Massacre business, he'd probably had more urgent problems than poor, traitorous Peter. Specifically, whoever had murdered his former comrades.

Despite what the Wizarding World may think, Sirius wasn't a killer. He never had it in him and Peter honestly hadn't seen Azkaban changing that.

No, someone else had been responsible for the Massacre. Someone with a massive grudge against Death Eaters. And while this unknown killer could have forced the knowledge of his treachery out of Padfoot or - very unlikely - made an alliance with him, Peter still hadn't worried in the slightest.

For the simple reason that nobody would ever suspect that someone as cowardly as him would willingly stay so close to Harry James Potter, almost directly under Albus Dumbledore's nose. Nobody would realistically make the connection between Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew and the Weasley family's pet rat, because it would require some kind of lateral, even parallel thinking, that no sane human being would ever make.

Ever.

That assumption was precisely why he was neck-deep in things nobody would want to be neck-deep in.

And so, on the 4th of January, 1992, Peter blearily awoke from his latest nap as thirty-two years old human, a fact that his sleep-fogged mind took a few seconds to register. In his confusion, all the middle-aged wizard managed to discern of his environment was the ice-cold floor he'd apparently rested on, the heavy smell of book and fresh ink that one would find in a library or a newspaper office and some sort of amorphous blobs of colors in the mid-distance.

The unfamiliarity of his surroundings, coupled with the realization that he'd been found out, instantly forced him awake, honed survival instincts kicking in as his somewhat-enhanced senses flared to life. The smells grew stronger, the darkness receded partially and the previously imprecise forms became more defined, revealing four individuals behind a single desk.

Reaching for his wand, the animagus cursed silently when he found it gone, along with his master's. Seeing no immediate way out of this, he redirected his focus to the most immediate threats, namely his four kidnappers… and promptly choked on air.

"Hey, Peter." James Potter jovially greeted him. "So glad you could make it."

"Yeah, we missed you to death." added Sirius Black, with a half-cocky half-vicious smile on his face.

Wormail's responding squeak was about the only sound he could manage at the moment.

* * *

Sirius watched with delight as fear blossomed in the rat's eyes, his tone going corpselike pale, his breath shortening to the bare minimum needed to insure his continual survival.

He enjoyed every moment of it.

The sheer disbelief and rejection of reality, the plain refusal to acknowledge even the mere possibility of what he was seeing.

On some level, Padfoot could relate. He'd felt mostly the same thing when he'd woken up to Lily's concerned face after being stabbed half a dozen time by freaking shadow ghosts!

He may or may not have screamed and/or wept uncontrollably like an overly emotional firsty.

Anyway, she'd talked him out of his guilt-induced panic attack and succinctly explained the situation, starting with her and Harry's pact with an all-powerful entity of sort. Also, why sneaking up on Nightingales was a bad idea.

Things had only gone downhill for there.

Entirely separate dimensions, interconnected ones, parallel realms, demonic deities and their otherworldly artifacts, different magic schools and entirely separate magical energies. He'd still been trying to wrap his head around it all when Harry, twelve year old Hogwarts' student Harry, had arrived by shadow-teleportation and summoned his ghostly father with an honest-to-Merlin fairy tale artifact. Right before apologizing for the Azkaban Massacre and leaving him to stew in the Shrieking Shack to teach him a lesson about not being carelessly thrown into prison when you had a godson to take care of.

Padfoot may or may not have soiled his pants at the first part and cried some more at the second.

Apologies had been accepted, manly hugs had been exchanged, 'Boys.' had been muttered fondly by an exasperated witch and Sirius had launched into the tale of his arrest and subsequent imprisonment, all those years ago.

That had in turned led to the entity contracted to Harry, the Prince - read unholy abomination - of fate, knowledge and memory, Hermaeus Mora, identifying the escaped rat animagus as Scabbers, Harry's friend Ron's pet rat with a suspiciously absent finger.

Sirius had sworn.

James had sworn.

Harry had sworn.

Lily had slapped all three of them upside the head and called for Dobby, instructing the elf to retrieve the traitorous bastard without hurting, maiming or killing him for what he'd done, not even a little. It had to be specified apparently, because the slightly unhinged elf took the protection of his family very seriously and could do some serious damage, now that he was running on daedric magic.

Peter had been delivered in record time and now that he was awake and freaking out properly, they were going to see how much time it would take them to make him go catatonic.

That was his plan anyway.

"Come on, take a seat." Prongs invited their former friend. "We have so much catching up to do. Sirius can start by telling you about his life in Azkaban. Just in case, you know? Then Lils and I can take turns explaining death and since she's a ghost and I'm dead dead, you'll get to see the big picture. And of course, Harry can tell you about that time he executed eleven of your skull-hooded friends with a Basilisk."

"J… James."

"Yes, Peter?"

"You're dead."

"I'm pretty sure I just said that."

"You did."

"Thanks Harry."

"Anytime."

"So, yeah, I'm dead. Congratulation Peter, you get half the credit." he applauded condescendingly, his expression turning sour. "Now get your ass in that chair or I'll have Lils' elf pop your head into the great lake… just your head."

The threat was so brutal, so unexpected from James of all people, that Peter obeyed reflexively.

"Good boy. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to open that lying snout of yours and tell us everything. How you became a Death Eater, when, why, how you felt when you sold us to Voldemort and what other secrets you gave to tall, dark and freaky… everything. If you're too nervous to talk about it, Harry can hit you with a cheering charm, but don't bother lying or withholding information, because we'll know and remove extremities accordingly. If you do want to talk about it but don't trust yourself to be truthful - which we would totally understand - we can provide Veritaserum from Snape's supplies. And if you don't want to talk, we can do it the hard way and have Lily extract your every memory from your shredded soul, like she did with Bellatrix. Trust me, you don't want that."

Sirius almost broke down laughing at Peter's terrified expression.

Almost.

"So… what will it be?"

"I… I... "

"Ye~s?"

"I'll take the... veritaserum."

Not surprising, it was the most cowardly answer of them all. Sirius would have preferred the hard way.

James gave an accepting nod and glanced at his wife.

"Dobby." she called, making a small vial of water-clear liquid appear on her desk with a popping sound. "Thank you."

"Would you prefer anyone in particular delivering the drops?" asked James. "Or asking the questions?"

"... can Harry give me the potion?" asked the traitor. "And… Lily ask the questions?"

"I'm fine with this." offered the redhead.

"Me too." confirmed her son, grabbing the truth potion and walking up to his parent's former friend.

"Open your mouth and tilt your head back."

"Can I say something first?" meekly asked the older wizard.

"Go ahead."

"Thank you Harry." he smiled "I just… I wanted you to know that you… all four of you… are WAY TOO TRUSTING!"

Peter's hand snaked up from his lap and wrapped around Harry's wand, regrettably sticking out of his back pocket.

The rat's scream of renewed betrayal turned into a scream of pained horror as the wand promptly incinerated his hand and a good part of his forearm.

And now Sirius owed Harry ten Galleons, great.

"You -" commented his godson. "- are an idiot."

Looking dismissively at the crying and thrashing man, he produced a black crystal from his robes and casually summoned the wand back to his hand. It was promptly leveled at Peter's head.

"A very dead idiot."

Lightning flashed and the smell of ozone mixed with cooked human flesh spread out throughout the chamber.

Best. Godson. Ever!


End file.
